THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 

OF  CALIFORNIA 

RIVERSIDE 


EREWHON  REVISITED 


BY  THE  SAME  AUTHOR 

EREWHON 

OR   OVER   THE  RANGE 

"It  is  not  wonderful  that  such  a  man  as 
Butler  should  be  the  author  of  'Erewhon,' 
a  shrewd  and  biting  satire  on  modern  life 
and  thought — the  best  of  its  kind  since 
'Gulliver's  Travels.'  .  .  .  To  lash  the 
age,  to  ridicule  vain  pretensions,  to  expose 
hypocrisy,  to  deride  humbug  in  education, 
politics,  and  religion,  are  tasks  beyond 
most  men's  powers;  but  occasionally, 
very  occasionally,  a  bit  of  genuine  satire 
secures  for  itself  more  than  a  passing  nod 
of  recognition.  'Erewhon,'  I  think,  is 
such  a  satire." 

— Augustine  Birrell,  in  The  Speaker 
E.  P.  DUTTON  &  COMPANY 


y:;3'-y^^ 


Samuel  Butler  at  Twenty-Three  Years  of  Age 
(From  a  Photograph  taken  in  1858) 


Erewhon  Revisited 

TWENTY  YEARS  LATER 

BOTH    BY  THE    ORIGINAL   DISCOVERER   OF 
THE    COUNTRY   AND    BY    HIS    SON 

BY 

SAMUEL  BUTLER 

AUTHOR  OF  "erewhon,"   "THE   WAY  OF  ALL  FLESH," 

"life  and  habit,"  etc.,  etc. 

WITH  AN   INTRODUCTION    BY 
MOREBY  ACK.LOM 


NEW  YORK 

E.  P.  DUITON  &  COMPANY 

68i  FIFTH  AVENUE 


Copyright,  1920, 
By  E.  p.  DUTTON  &  COMPANY 


JU  Rights  Rtstnid         "f^'^'Z  ^  9 


ORIGINAL  EDITION,  1901 


The  Portrait  of  Samuel  Butler,  which  foims  the  Frontispiece 
of  this  volume,  is  reproduced  from  Mr.  Henry  Festing  Jones* 
"Samuel  Butler,  Author  of  Erewhon,"  by  special  permission 
of  The  Macmillan  Company,  New  York,  Publishers, 


Printed  In  the  United  States  of  America 


AUTHOR'S  PREFACE 

TO   THE   ORIGINAL   EDITION 

I  FORGET  when,  but  not  very  long  after  I  had  published 
"Erewhon"  in  iSy2,  it  occurred  to  me  to  ask  myself 
what  course  events  in  Erewhon  would  probably  take 
after  Mr.  Higgs,  as  I  suppose  I  may  now  call  him,  had 
made  his  escape  in  the  balloon  with  Arowhena.  Given 
a  people  in  the  conditions  supposed  to  exist  in  Erewhon, 
and  given  the  apparently  miraculous  ascent  of  a  re- 
markable stranger  into  the  heavens  with  an  earthly 
bride — what  would  be  the  effect  on  the  people  gen- 
erally? 

There  was  no  use  in  trying  to  solve  this  problem 
before,  say,  twenty  years  shoidd  have  given  time  for 
Erczvhonian  developments  to  assume  something  like 
permanent  shape,  and  in  1892  /  was  too  busy  with 
books  now  published  to  be  able  to  attend  to  Erezvhon. 
It  was  not  till  the  early  zmnter  of  1900,  i.e.,  as  nearly 
as  may  be  thirty  years  after  the  date  of  Higgs*s 
escape,  that  I  found  time  to  deal  with  the  question 
above  stated,  and  to  ansivcr  it,  according  to  my  lights, 
in  the  book  which  I  now  lay  before  the  public. 

I  have  concluded,  I  believe  rightly,  that  the  events 
described  in  Chapter  XXIV.  of  "E.rcwhon"  would  git^e 
rise  to  such  a  cataclysmic  change  in  the  old  Erezuhonian 
opinions  as  would  result  in  the  development  of  a  new 
religion.  Nozu  the  development  of  all  nczu  religions 
follows  much  the  same  general  course.    In  all  cases  the 


vi  Author's  Preface 

times  are  more  or  less  out  of  joint — older  faiths  are 
losing  their  hold  upon  the  masses.  At  such  times,  let  a 
personality  appear,  strong  in  itself,  and  made  to  seem 
still  stronger  by  association  with  some  supposed  tran- 
scendent miracle,  and  it  will  be  easy  to  raise  a  Lo  here! 
that  will  attract  many  followers.  If  there  be  a  single 
great,  and  apparently  well-authenticated,  miracle, 
others  will  accrete  round  it;  then,  in  ail  religions  that 
have  so  originated,  there  will  follow  temples,  priests, 
rites,  sincere  believers,  and  unscrupidoiis  exploiters  of 
public  credidity.  To  chronicle  the  events  that  followed 
Higgs's  balloon  ascent  without  shewing  that  they  ivere 
much  as  they  have  been  under  like  conditions  in  other 
places,  would  be  to  hold  the  mirror  up  to  something 
very  wide  of  nature. 

Analogy,  however,  between  courses  of  events  is  one 
thing — historic  parallelisms  abound;  analogy  between 
the  main  actors  in  events  is  a  very  different  one,  and 
one,  moreover,  of  which  few  examples  can  be  found. 
The  development  of  the  new  ideas  in  Ercwhon  is  a\ 
familiar  one,  but  there  is  no  more  likeness  between 
Higgs  and  the  founder  of  any  other  religion,  than  there 
is  between  Jesus  Christ  and  Mahomet.  He  is  a  typical 
middle-class  Englishman,  deeply  tainted  with  priggish- 
ness  in  his  earlier  years,  but  in  great  part  freed  from 
it  by  the  stveet  uses  of  adversity. 

If  I  may  be  allowed  for  a  moment  to  speak  about 
myself,  I  zvould  say  that  I  have  never  ceased  to  profess 
myself  a  member  of  the  more  adz'anced  wing  of  the 
English  Broad  Church.  What  those  who  belong  to  this 
wing  believe,  I  believe.  What  they  reject,  I  reject.  No 
two  people  think  absolutely  alike  on  any  subject,  but 
when  I  converse  with  advanced  Broad  Churchmen  I 


Author's  Preface  vii 

find  myself  in  substantial  harmony  with  them.  I  be- 
lieve— and  should  be  very  sorry  if  I  did  not  believe — 
that,  mutatis  mutandis,  such  men  will  find  the  advice 
given  on  pp.  250253  and  259-263  of  this  book  much 
what,  under  the  supposed  circumstances,  they  would 
themselves  give. 

Lastly,  I  should  express  my  great  obligations  to  Mr. 
R.  A.  Streatfeild  of  the  British  Museum,  who,  in  the 
absence  from  England  of  my  friend  Mr.  H.  Festing 
Jones,  has  kindly  supervised  the  corrections  of  my  book 
as  it  passed  through  the  press. 

SAMUEL  BUTLER. 
May  I,  1901 


CONTENTS 

PACK 

Introduction  by  Moreby  Acklom    ....      xiii 

CHAPTXR 

I.     Ups  and  downs  of  Fortune — My  father  starts  for 

Erewhon i 

II.     To  the  foot  of  the  pass  into  Erewhon  ....       i6 

III.  My  father  while  camping  is  accosted  by  Professors 

Hanky  and  Panky 22 

IV.  My  father  overhears  more  of  Hanky  and  Panky' s 

conversation 35 

V.    My  father  meets  a  son,  of  whose  existence  he  was 

ignorant,  and  strikes  a  bargain  with  him   .     .       49 

VI.    Further  conversation  between  father  and  son — The 

Professor^s  hoard 61 

VII.    Signs  of  the  new  order  of  things  catch  my  father's 

eye  on  every  side 69 

VIII.  Yram,  now  Mayoress,  gives  a  dinner-party,  in  the 
course  of  which  she  is  disquieted  by  what  she 
learns  from  Professor  Hanky:  she  sends  for  her 
son  George  and  questions  him 79 

IX.     Interview  between  Yram  and  her  son  ....       92 
X.     My  father,  fearing  recognition  at  Sunch'ston,  be- 
takes himself  to  the  neighbouring  town  of  Fair- 
mead  102 

XI.     President  Gurgoyle's  pamphlet  "On  the  Physics 

of  Vicarious  Existence" 113 


X  Contents 

CHAPTER  PAGB 

XII.    George  fails  to  find  my  father,  whereon  Yram 

cautions  the  Professors 125 

XIII.  A  visit  to  the  Provincial  Deformatory  at  Fair- 

mead  136 

XIV.  My  father  makes  the  acquaintance  of  Mr.  Balmy, 

and  walks  with  him  next  day  to  Sunch'ston     .     146 

XV.     The  temple  is  dedicated  to  my  father,  and  certain 

extracts  are  read  from  his  supposed  sayings     .     161 

XVI.  Professor  Hanky  preaches  a  sermon,  in  the  course 
of  which  my  father  declares  himself  to  be  the 
Sunchild 175 

XVII.    George  takes  his  father  to  prison,  and  there  obtains 

some  useful  information igo 

XVIII.  Yram  invites  Dr.  Downie  and  Mrs.  Humdrum  to 
luncheon — A  passage  at  arms  between  her  and 
Hanky  is  amicably  arranged 199 

XIX.    A  council  is  held  at  the  Mayor's,  in  the  course  of 

which  George  turns  the  tables  on  the  Professors  .     204 

XX.  Mrs.  Humdrum  and  Dr.  Downie  propose  a  com- 
promise, which,  after  an  amendment  by  George, 
is  carried  nem.  con 214 

XXI.     Yram,  on  getting  rid  of  her  guests,  goes  to  the 

prison  to  see  my  father 221 

XXII.     Mainly  occupied  with  a  veracious  extract  from  a 

Sunch'slonian  journal 230 

XXIII.  My  father  is  escorted  to  the  Mayor's  house, 
and  is  introduced  to  a  future  daughter-in- 
law      241 


Contents  xi 

CHAPTER  PAGB 

XXIV.  After  dinner,  Dr.  Downie  and  the  Professors 
would  be  glad  to  know  what  is  to  be  done  about 
Sunchildism 248 

XXV.    George  escorts  my  father  to  the  statues;  the  two  then 

part 257 

XXVI.  My  father  reaches  home,  and  dies  not  long  after- 
wards        267 

XXVII.     /  m^et  my  brother  George  at  the  statues,  on  the  top 

of  the  pass  into  Erewhon 274 

XXVIII.  George  and  I  spend  a  few  hours  together  at  the 
statues,  and  then  part — /  reach  home — Post- 
script   288 


INTRODUCTION 

For  all  admirers  of  Samuel  Butler  special  interest 
attaches  to  Erezvhon  Revisited.  It  is  the  last  book  that 
he  Avrote,  though  not  the  latest  published.  Not  only 
this,  but  being  a  sequel  to  one  of  his  own  books  written 
some  thirty  years  before,  and  being  concerned  with 
substantially  the  same  locality  and  the  same  people,  it 
affords  us  a  parallax,  as  it  were,  by  means  of  which  we 
may  appraise  the  evolution  of  Butler's  mind  and  style 
during  the  mature  years  of  his  life  and  thought. 

There  are  great  differences  between  Erezvhon  and 
Erewhon  Reznsited.  The  former  is  very  little  of  a 
story  and  very  much  of  a  satirical  comment  on  the  cus- 
toms and  ideals  of  late-Victorian  England.  In  fact, 
with  the  exception  of  the  description  of  Higgs'  dis- 
covery of  the  lost  country  Erewhon,  and  of  his  escape 
from  it  about  a  year  later  in  an  amateur  balloon  with 
his  stolen  Erewhonian  bride,  there  is  practically  no 
action  and  no  story.  In  Erewhon  Revisited,  on  the 
other  hand,  we  have  an  exceedingly  clever  and  interest- 
ing story  with  a  good  deal  of  ingenious  action  which 
suggests  that  if  Butler  had  not  been  so  exclusively  con- 
cemed  with  matters  of  larger  importance,  he  might 
have  written  good  detective  yarns.  Erewhon  Revis- 
ited is  also  a  satire,  but  in  this  case  the  satire  is  nar- 
rowed down  to  two  principal  matters  instead  of  cm- 
bracing  the  whole   of   modern  social  conduct.      The 

ziii 


XIV  Introduction 

objects  of  attack  are  the  professorial  class  and  the 
dogmas  of  the  Christian  Church. 

Butler's  antipathy  for  college  professors  as  a  class  is 
heartily  reciprocated  by  the  professors.  Witness  Pro- 
fessor Lyon  Phelps'  characterization  of  The  Way  of 
All  Flesh  as  a  "diabolical  novel,"  and  Professor 
Stewart  P.  Sherman's  recent  vitriolic  attack  on  But- 
ler's whole  life  and  character  in  the  columns  of  The 
Evening  Post.  Yet  it  is  rather  amusing  to  contem- 
plate that  Butler  himself  stood  for  the  Slade  Profes- 
sorship of  Fine  Arts  in  Cambridge  University  in  1886, 
and  apparently  almost  succeeded  in  capturing  the 
appointment.  It  is  an  interesting  speculation  to  pic- 
ture what  would  have  been  the  mutual  reaction  of 
Butler  as  a  professor  on  Cambridge,  and  of  a  Cam- 
bridge professorship  on  Butler.  There  is  no  doubt, 
however,  that  Butler's  views  on  professors  had  evolved 
considerably  in  the  thirty  years  which  lay  between 
Erewhon  and  Erewhon  Revisited.  In  Erewhon, 
though  he  certainly  says  that  they 

seemed  to  devote  themselves  to  the  avoidance  of 
every  opinion  with  which  they  were  not  perfectly 
familiar  and  regarded  their  own  brains  as  a  sort 
of  sanctuary  to  which  if  an  opinion  had  once  re- 
sorted, none  other  was  to  attack  it. 

Erewhon  (Chapter  xxii). 

he  does  speak  of  them  as  kindly,  hospitable  gentlemen, 
whereas  in  Erewhon  Revisited  he  represents  Hanky 
and  Panky,  the  professors,  respectively,  of  Worldly 
Wisdom  and  Unworldly  Wisdom  in  the  University  of 
Bridgeford,  as  despicable  hypocrites  who  begin  by 
attempting  to  swindle  Higgs,  whom  they  suppose  to 


Introduction  xv 

be  a  poverty  stricken  under-keeper  of  the  royal  for- 
ests, out  of  a  nugget  of  gold.  And  this  sort  of  con- 
temptuous depreciation  of  the  honour  and  moral  recti- 
tude of  the  professorial  class  runs  throughout  the  vol- 
ume. 

When  we  come  to  consider  Butler's  attack  on  Chris- 
tian dogma  in  Ercwhon  Revisited,  we  have  to  deal  with 
a  matter  very  much  older  and  more  fundamental  in 
his  character  than  his  distrust  and  dislike  of  profes- 
sors, and  we  have  to  allow  for  the  fact  that  in  spite  of 
Butler's  multifarious  interests  in  other  directions,  in 
art,  in  science,  in  music,  and  in  general  literature,  his 
basic  interest  was  theology.  This  idea  may  seem  a 
strange  one  at  first  sight,  but  it  will  be  confirmed  by  a 
study  of  Butler's  work  in  its  entirety. 

Butler,  moreover,  was  the  son  of  a  Canon  and  the 
grandson  of  a  Bishop,  and  was  brought  up  in  an  at- 
mosphere of  theological  narrowness  such  as  is  almost 
ificonceivable  today;  and  it  was  as  impossible  for  him 
fo  escape  Ijcing  permanently  interested  in  theology  as 
it  was  for  his  questioning,  doubting  soul  to  stay  within 
the  fold  of  comfortable  conformity. 

The  story  of  his  lapse  from  orthodoxy,  while  he 
was  preparing  for  ordination  in  the  Anglican  (Episco- 
pal) Church  has  often  been  told  and  need  not  be  re- 
peated here.  The  fact  is  that  though  by  1863  Butler 
supposed  that  he  had  given  up  l^elief  in  the  credibility 
of  Christianity,  and  the  authority  of  its  entire  ecclesi- 
astical system,  theology  remained  his  really  dominant 
preoccupation  until  the  end  of  his  life.  The  rea.son 
that  so  little  of  it  ajjpeared  in  ErrcvJion  is  probably 
that  he  was  at  that  time  relieving  his  mind  on  the 
subject   for  a  time  by  writing  The  Fair  Haz'cn,  an 


xvi  Introduction 

apparent  defense  of  the  accuracy  of  the  gospel  accounts 
of  the  resurrection  and  ascension  of  Jesus  Christ,  but 
in  reaHty  a  searching  and  ingenious  attack  upon  the 
veracity  and  mental  equipment  of  the  Evangelists. 
The  Fair  Haven  was  published  the  year  after  Ere- 
ivhon,  under  a  pseudonym,  and  to  Butler's  great  joy 
was  hailed  by  the  Low  Church  journals  of  Great 
Britain  as  a  serious  work  in  defense  of  Christianity. 
It  was  the  revelation  of  its  true  authorship  and  its  true 
meaning  that  did  more  than  anything  else  to  create  the 
suspicion  and  dislike  of  Butler  which  the  orthodox 
abundantly  showed  him  from  that  time  on. 

In  his  own  preface  to  Erezvhon  Revisited  (see  page 
v)  Butler  himself  says  that  it  was  soon  after  the  pub- 
lication of  Erewhon  that  it  suggested  itself  to  him  to 
ask  what  effect  a  supposed  miracle,  such  as  the  ascen- 
sion of  the  mysterious  visitor,  Higgs,  into  the  sky  in 
his  secretly  manufactured  balloon,  would  have  on  the 
religious  beliefs  and  system  of  a  simple,  credulous  and 
imperfectly  civilised  people  such  as  the  Erewhonians. 
However,  it  appears  that  this  idea,  which  Mr.  Henry 
Festing  Jones  in  his  monumental  biography,  Samuel 
Butler,  Author  of  Erewhon,  calls  "the  chief  motive  of 
Erewhon  Revisited/^  struck  Butler  before  Erewhon 
was  written,  for  we  find  it  in  the  concluding  paragraph 
of  his  pamphlet,  The  Evidence  for  the  Resurrection  of 
Jesus  Christ  as  contained  in  the  Four  Gospels  critically 
examined.  This  suggestion  which  is  elaborated  in  The 
Fair  Haven  (Chapter  viii)  is  as  follows: 

To  me  it  appears  that  if  they  (the  Apostles) 
be  taken  simply  as  honest  but  uneducated  men, 
subjected  to  a  very  unusual  course  of  exciting 


Introduction  xvii 

incidents  in  an  enthusiastic  age  and  country,  we 
shall  find  that  nothing  less  than  the  foundation  of 
Christianity  could  well  have  come  about  ...  if  I 
have  realized  to  myself  rightly  the  effect  which  a 
well  proved  miracle  would  have  upon  such  men 
as  the  Apostles,  in  such  times  as  those  they  lived 
in,  I  think  I  may  be  justified  in  saying  that  the 
single  supposed  miracle  of  the  Resurrection  is  suf- 
ficient to  account  for  all  that  followed. 

Some  criticism  may  be  made  of  Butler  for  the  exact 
manner  in  which  he  carries  out  his  representation  of 
the  incidents  following  on  such  a  supposed  miracle  in 
Erewhon  Reznsitcd.  The  illegitimate  birth  of  Higgs' 
son  of  a  mother  whose  name,  Yram,  is  an  obvious 
travesty  of  "IMary,"  was  fiercely  assailed  by  Sir  Arthur 
Quiller  Couch  in  the  London  Daily  Neivs  as  a  scan- 
dalous parallel  to  the  nuptials  of  Mary  and  Joseph, 
"offensive  by  inadvertence  almost  incredible"  ;  but  But- 
ler absolutely  denied  any  intention  of  satirising  Christ, 
both  privately  in  a  letter  to  Mrs.  J.  A.  Fuller  Maitland 
(Feb.  lo,  1901)  and  publicly  in  a  protest  against 
Quiller  Couch's  criticism  which  caused  the  latter 
to  apologise  and  admit  that  he  was  mistaken.  It  is 
interesting  to  note  that  it  is  in  this  protest  of  his  to 
the  editor  of  the  Daily  News  that  Butler  reveals  "the 
second  leading  idea  of  the  book,"  that  of  a  father  try- 
ing to  win  the  love  of  a  hitherto  unknown  son  by  self- 
sacrifice,  and  succeeding — a  pathetic  commentary  on 
his  recognition  of  the  failure  of  his  own  filial  relation. 
The  obvious  parodies  of  creeds,  commandments,  scrip- 
tures and  other  portions  of  the  Church's  ritual,  such 
as: 


xviii  Introduction 

"When  the  righteous  man  tumeth  away  from 
the  righteousness  that  he  hath  committed,  and 
doeth  that  which  is  a  little  naughty  and  wrong, 
he  will  generally  be  found  to  have  gained  in 
amiability  what  he  has  lost  in  righteousness," — 
Sunchild  Sayings,  Chapter  xiii,  v.  15. 

may  also  be  considered  in  bad  taste,  though  Butler 
supposed  himself  to  have  removed  from  the  book  all 
obvious  causes  of  offense  on  the  suggestion  of  Mrs. 
J.  A.  F.  Maitland,  mentioned  above;  but  it  is  hardly 
possible  for  any  man  to  satirise  the  birth  and  growth 
of  a  new  religion  without  more  or  less  parodying  the 
religious  formularies  of  his  own  generation,  and  Ere- 
whon  Revisited  is  no  exception  to  this. 

The  story  in  the  book  is  simplicity  itself.  Higgs, 
the  discoverer  of  Erewhon,  twenty  years  after  his  mys- 
terious evasion,  returns  to  see  what  the  country  is  now 
like;  and  discovers  that  he  himself  has  become  the  cen- 
tral figure  of  a  new  religion,  owing  to  his  unexplained 
disappearance  sky-ward  and  from  the  garbled  recollec- 
tion of  his  claims  that  he  had  a  father  in  Heaven.  He 
also  discovers  that  he  left  behind  him  an  unsuspected 
son  who  has  now  become  a  person  of  some  importance 
in  the  community.  He  is  just  in  time  to  attend  the 
dedication  of  the  great  temple  to  himself  as  the  Sun- 
child,  and  endeavors  to  interrupt  the  service  and  reveal 
himself  as  an  ordinary  human  being.  His  efforts  are 
defeated  and  he  is  hustled  secretly  out  of  the  country 
to  prevent  an  upheaval. 

Although,  as  has  already  been  explained,  the  under- 
lying idea  in  the  story  is  the  exploitation  of  a  theolog- 


Introduction  xix 

ical  conception,  no  intending  reader  may  fear  reading 
the  book  on  that  account.  Butler's  humour  is  as  lively 
as  ever,  his  character-drawing  is  as  satirical,  and  his 
eye  for  social  defects  and  absurdities  as  acute.  For 
instance,  in  his  description  of  the  professors  at  the 
mayoress'  reception : 

There  was  Dr.  Downie,*  Professor  of  Logo- 
machy, and  perhaps  the  most  subtle  dialectician  in 
Erewhon.  He  could  say  nothing  in  more  words 
than  any  man  of  his  generation.  His  text-book 
on  The  Art  of  Obscuring  Issues  had  passed 
through  ten  or  twelve  editions,  and  was  in  the 
hands  of  all  aspirants  for  academic  distinction. 
He  had  earned  a  high  reputation  for  sobriety  of 
judgment  by  resolutely  refusing  to  have  definite 
views  on  any  subject;  so  safe  a  man  was  he  con- 
sidered, that  while  still  quite  young  he  had  been 
appointed  to  the  lucrative  post  of  Thinker  in  Or- 
dinary to  the  Royal  Family.  There  was  Mr. 
Principal  Crank,  with  his  sister  Mrs.  Quack;  Pro- 
fessors Gabl)  and  Bawl,  with  their  wives  and  two 
or  three  erudite  daughters.     (Chapter  viii.) ; 

in  his  attack  on  our  reformatory  system  when  he  de- 
scril)es  the  "Dcformatory"  at  Fairmead ;  in  his  gibing 
at  our  fashirmablc  girls'  boarding-schools,  in  his  picture 
of  Madame  Laf rime's  school,  where  the  successful 
marriages  of  the  pupils  are  recorded  on  the  panels  of 
the  school  hall,  and  in  his  parody  of  our  up-to-date 
journalism  in  the  report  of  the  temple  dedication  as 
given  in  The  Sunch'ston  Journal,  his  pen  shews  no 
sign  of  having  lost  its  force  or  point.     He  deals  very 

*  "Downy,"    some    thirty   years   ago,    was    English    semi-slang 
for  bly  or  sophisticated. 


XX  Introduction 

trenchantly,  moreover,  with  the  ethical  value  of  ideas  of 
eternal  punishment  and  eternal  bliss  in  comparing  them 
humorously  with  the  classic  myths  of  Sisyphus,  the 
Danaids  and  Tantalus,  while  his  burlesque  of  the  dif- 
ferences of  High  Church  and  Low  Church  in  the  two 
schools  of  the  Sunchild  followers,  who  wore  their 
clothes  respectively  wrong  side  and  right  side  fore- 
most, through  a  dispute  as  to  Higgs'  original  method 
of  dressing,  will  be  found  delightful  by  all  except  the 
parties  ridiculed. 

More  than  this,  he  has  put  his  finger  on  the  fatal 
flaw  in  the  whole  mystical  basis  of  religion  in  the  con- 
versations of  Higgs  with  Mr.  Balmy  *  in  Chapter 
xiv,  the  epitome  of  the  matter  being  where  Mr. 
Balmy  expresses  his  belief  in  the  efficacy  of  spiritual 
enlightenment  when  the  latter  is  contradicted  by  facts 
of  actual  experience : 

"A  spiritual  enlightenment  from  within,"  re- 
turned Mr.  Balmy,  "is  more  to  be  relied  on  than 
any  merely  physical  affluence  from  external  ob- 
jects. Now,  when  I  shut  my  eyes,  I  see  the  bal- 
loon ascend  a  little  way,  but  almost  immediately 
the  heavens  open,  the  horses  descend,  the  balloon 
is  transformed,  and  the  glorious  pageant  careers 
onward  till  it  vanishes  into  the  heaven  of  heavens. 
Hundreds  with  whom  I  have  conversed  assure 
me  that  their  experience  has  been  the  same  as 
mine.  .  .  ."     (Chapter  xiv.) 

Butler  seems  somewhat  more  constructive  in  Ere- 
whon  Revisited  than  he  is  in  Erewhon.    In  the  lesson 

*  Another  Victorian  slang  word  signifying  much  the  same 
as  our  "dippy." 


Introduction  xxi 

read  at  the  dedication  of  the  temple  to  the  Sunchild, 
and  in  Dr.  Gurgoyle's  book,  The  Physics  of  Vicarious 
Existence,  we  find  outlined  a  definite  theory  of  the  na- 
ture of  God  which  corresponds  closely  to  the  theory 
already  given  by  Butler  in  a  series  of  articles  in  The 
Examiner,  of  London,  and  after  his  death  pub- 
lished in  a  small  volume  entitled  God  the  Known 
and  God  the  Unknown.  This  latter  is  a  peculiar 
piece  of  work,  and  shows  that  Butler  was  very  much 
more  alive  to  absurdities  and  inconsistencies  in 
other  people's  ideas  than  he  was  to  those  in  his  own; 
but  it  is  evidence  that  Butler  is  speaking  largely  in  his 
own  person  in  this  instance  in  Erewhon  Revisited. 
There  is  also  (in  Chapter  xxiv)  some  sensible  advice 
given  to  the  propagators  of  Sunchildism,  which  by  his 
own  confession  in  the  Preface  (page  vii)  is  intended 
for  the  authorities  of  the  Christian  Church. 

Apart  from  this  we  find  a  certain  amount  of  worldly 
wisdom  which  lifts  the  book  to  a  higher  philosophical 
plane  than  its  predecessor.     For  instance: 

In  our  spiritual  and  intellectual  world  t)wo 
parties  more  or  less  antagonistic  are  equally 
necessary.  Those  who  are  at  the  head  of  science 
provide  us  with  the  one  party;  those  whom  we 
call  our  churchmen  are  the  other.  Both  are  cor- 
rupt, but  we  can  spare  neither,  for  each  checks  as 
far  as  it  can  the  corruptions  of  the  other. 
(Chapter  xxv.) 

And  is  there  not  another  place  in  which  it  is 
said,  "The  fear  of  the  Lord  is  the  beginning  of 
wisdom,"  as  though  it  were  not  the  last  word 
upon  the  subject?     If  a  man  should  not  do  evil 


xxii  Introduction 

that  good  may  come,  so  neither  should  he  do  good 
that  evil  may  come.     (Chapter  vii.) 

Not  the  least  important  duty  of  posterity 
towards  itself  lies  in  passing  righteous  judgment 
on  the  forebears  who  stand  up  before  it.  They 
should  be  allowed  the  benefit  of  a  doubt,  and  pec- 
cadilloes should  be  ignored ;  but  when  no  doubt 
exists  that  a  man  was  ingrainedly  mean  and  cow- 
ardly, his  reputation  must  remain  in  the  Purga- 
tory of  Time  for  a  term  varying  from,  say,  a 
hundred  to  two  thousand  years.  After  a  hundred 
years  it  may  generally  come  down,  though  it  will 
still  be  under  a  cloud.  After  two  thousand  years 
it  may  be  mentioned  in  any  society  without  hold- 
ing up  hands  in  horror.  Our  sense  of  moral  guilt 
varies  inversely  as  the  squares  of  its  distance  in 
time  and  space  from  ourselves. 

Not  so  with  heroism;  this  loses  no  lustre 
through  time  and  distance.  Good  is  gold;  it  is 
rare,  but  it  will  not  tarnish.  Evil  is  like  dirty 
water — plentiful  and  foul,  but  it  will  run  itself 
clear  of  taint.     (Chapter  xi.) 

Passages  such  as  these  show  that  Butler  had  evolved 
considerably  since  the  writing  of  Erewhon,  but  there 
is  even  more  difference  in  the  tone  of  the  two  books. 
Erewhon  Revisited  is  less  genial  and  less  playful,  the 
satire  is  sharper,  the  parody  more  pointed  than  in  the 
earlier  volume.  He  had  felt  that  the  literary,  scientific, 
and  religious  worlds  had  agreed  to  defeat  him  by  a 
conspiracy  of  silence,  and  unquestionably  the  belief 
had  embittered  him.  It  will  be  noted  that  the  impres- 
sion he  gives  of  Erewhon  in  the  first  book  is  that  it  is  a 
sort  of  Arcadia.    He  says  of  its  people  that  they  were: 


Introduction  xxiii 

of  a  physical  beauty  which  was  simply  amazing, 
the  women  were  vigorous  and  had  a  most  majes- 
tic gait,  their  expression  was  divine.  The  men 
were  as  handsome  as  the  women  beautiful.  .  . 

again : 

they  are  the  very  best  bred  people  that  ever  I  fell 
in  with.  .  . 

and  again : 

men  and  women  who  delight  me  entirely  by  their 
simplicity,  unconsciousness  of  self  and  kindly, 
genial  manners! 

There  is  nothing  of  this  in  Erewhon  Remsited.  The 
Erewhonians  are  here  presented  to  us  precisely  as  an 
equivalent  company  of  Europeans,  and  from  the  ad- 
vertisements of  the  shops  around  the  College  of  Spir- 
itual Athletics,  it  is  obvious  that  bad  temper,  suspicion, 
and  back-biting  were  no  uncommon  thing  among  them. 

Apart  from  this  difference  in  the  general  tone,  it  will 
l)e  obvious,  I  think,  to  any  reader  that  Erewhon  Revis- 
ited is  the  more  vigorous  book  of  the  two,  and  an 
astonishingly  young  piece  of  work  for  a  man  of  65  to 
write. 

The  history  of  the  book  is  easy  to  discover.  Al- 
though the  main  idea  around  which  it  is  built  had  been 
in  Butler's  mind  for  many  years,  the  first  hint  that  he 
intended  to  write  a  sequel  to  Ere^vhon  appears  in  a  let- 
ter from  him  to  Miss  Savage  (the  original  of  Althea 
in  The  Way  of  All  Flesh)  in  February,  1877.  It  was 
not  until  October,  1S96.  that  lie  definitely  announced 
in  conversation  to  the  publisher,  Eisiicr  Unvvin.  that 


xxiv  Introduction 

he  was  going  to  write  the  sequel.  In  1900  he  wrote  to 
Dean  Pigou,  of  Bristol,  that  he  intended  to  "make  a 
second  journey  to  Erewhon  in  the  person  of  my  sup- 
posed son,  and  to  report  sundry  developments."  Much 
of  the  book  was  written  by  the  beginning  of  February, 
1901,  and  in  March  of  that  year  Longmans  refused  to 
pubHsh  the  book,  even  at  Butler's  own  expense,  for 
fear  of  giving  offense  to  their  High  Church  Anglican 
clientele.  This  was  a  blow  to  Butler,  but  Bernard 
Shaw  now  appeared  as  his  good  angel.  He  read  the 
manuscript  and  reported  to  Butler  that  he  found  his 
hero  "as  interesting  as  ever,"  and  proceeded  to  arrange 
a  meeting  between  Butler  and  Grant  Richards,  the 
London  publisher,  who  was  to  be  inveigled  to  lunch  by 
the  announcement  that  Bernard  Shaw  was  going  to 
have  a  celebrated  author,  name  not  given,  to  meet  him. 
The  result  was  that  Grant  Richards  agreed  to  publish 
the  book,  and  not  only  to  publish  it  but  to  bear  the 
entire  financial  risk — the  first  time  that  such  a  proposi- 
tion had  ever  been  made  to  Butler !  The  book  was  fin- 
ished at  Harwich,  during  a  week-end  at  the  beginning 
of  April,  1 901.  The  first  copy  reached  Butler's  hands 
on  the  nth  of  October.  It  was  favorably  reviewed  in 
The  Times  and  The  Daily  Chronicle,  and  especially 
well  by  Edith  Sichel  in  The  Monthly  Review.  The 
motto  on  the  title  page  of  the  original  edition,  taken 
from  the  Tenth  Book  of  the  Iliad — 

Him  do  I  hate  even  as  I  hate  hell  fire 

Who  says  one  thing  and  hides  another  in  his  heart 

voices  the  life-long  protest  of  Butler  against  the  entire 
machinery  of  shams  and  humbug  with  which  the  struc- 
ture of  civilization  seems  inextricably  interwoven. 


Introduction  xxv 

Erewhon  Revisited  was  written  more  easily  and 
with  less  revision  than  any  other  of  his  books.  Th« 
simple  directness  of  its  style  is  due  not  only  to  con- 
tinual conscious  effort  on  Butler's  part,  but  to  his  use 
in  the  story  of  genuine  incidents  which  had  happened 
to  himself  or  come  within  his  cognizance.  For  in- 
stance, Professor  Hanky's  sermon  about  the  evidences 
for  Sunchildism,  at  the  temple  dedication  ceremonies, 
is  taken  almost  word  for  word  from  an  appeal  in  The 
Times  of  December  8th,  1892,  written  by  Sir  G.  G. 
Stokes  and  Lord  Halsbury,  for  the  Christian  Evidence 
Society.  Higgs'  experiences  as  a  pavement  artist  be- 
long by  rights  to  one  of  the  tenants  of  the  house  that 
Butler  owned  at  Peckham ;  Higgs'  second  journey  to 
Erewhon  is  taken  from  Butler's  own  experience  at 
Canterbury,  New  Zealand ;  and  the  honest  lawyer,  Mr. 
Alfred  E.  Cathie,  of  15  Clifford  Inn,  is,  of  course, 
Alfred  Emery  Cathie,  his  confidential  clerk  and  friend 
— and  so  in  many  other  instances. 

Butler's  own  verdict  on  Erewhon  Reinsited  con- 
tained in  a  letter  to  Mr.  O.  T.  J.  Alpers  of  Christ- 
church,  New  Zealand,  is  "Erewhon  Revisited  I  prefer 
to  Eretvhon,  I  confess";  and  it  seems  not  unlikely  that 
many  readers  will  agree  with  him.  It  is  a  little  diffi- 
cult in  this  country  and  at  this  time  to  realize  the  theo- 
logical bitterness  which  obtained  even  a  few  years  ago 
in  English  literary  circles,  but  even  making  allowance 
for  this  and  for  the  amount  of  energy  which  Butler 
used  in  fighting  it,  Ercivhon  Reinsited,  I  think  it  will 
be  admitted,  is  a  stronger  book  than  the  original  Ere- 
whon; and,  characteristically,  i)ciliaps  the  hardest 
knock,  in  a  IxDok  full  of  hard  knocks,  is  contained  in 
the  Preface  (pages  vi-vii)  : 


xxvi  Introduction 

If  I  may  be  allowed  for  a  moment  to  speak 
about  myself,  I  would  say  that  I  have  never  ceased 
to  profess  myself  a  memljer  of  the  more  advanced 
wing  of  the  English  Broad  Church.  What  those 
who  belong  to  this  wing  believe,  I  believe.  What 
they  reject,  I  reject.  No  two  people  think  abso- 
lutely alike  on  any  subject,  but  when  I  converse 
with  advanced  Broad  Churchmen  I  find  myself  in 
substantial  harmony  with  them. 

This,  in  the  face  of  Butler's  public  and  contemp- 
tuous rejection  for  the  previous  40  years  of  all  that 
the  English  Church  held,  taught,  feared,  believed  or 
hoped,  is  about  as  severe  a  criticism  of  the  good  faith 
of  the  Anglican  clergy  as  could  well  be  made — for  it  is 
hardly  thinkable  that  he  intended  his  claim  of  loyalty 
to  the  Church  to  be  taken  seriously. 

Butler  died  within  six  months  of  the  publication  of 
this  last  work  of  his,  and  true  to  his  own  conception 
of  vicarious  existence,  he  is  really  now  beginning  to 
live. 

We  are  not  so  much  better  or  so  much  more  sensible 
or  so  much  more  honest  than  the  Victorians,  that  we 
can  feel  Butler  is  not  needed  today.  Even  here  he 
might  conceivably  find  a  target  or  two  at  which  to  aim 
his  barbed  shafts — a  large  and  opulent  figure  of 
Liberty  in  our  sea-gate,  for  instance,  with  the  Eight- 
eenth Amendment  and  the  Volstead  Act  in  force  be- 
hind it  might  strike  him  as  humorous;  or,  perhaps, 
the  sight  of  the  Mayor  of  the  greatest  city  in  the  west- 
ern hemisphere  gravely  awarding  the  "Freedom  of  the 
City"  to  an  alien  who  adventures  thither  for  the  ac- 
knowledged purpose  of  peddling  the  supposititious 
bonds  of  an  imaginary  republic. 


Introduction  xxvii 

Yes,  undoubtedly  Samuel  Butler  died  too  soon;  but 
he  left  something  of  himself  behind  him  that  is  in- 
creasing in  strength  and  influence  day  by  day  and  year 
by  year.  His  works  are  a  priceless  mental  tonic  to 
those  who  are  inclined  to  believe  that  whatever  is  is 
right,  or  to  jog  along  comfortably  in  a  mental  rut. 
It  is  hard  often  to  read  him  without  warm  indignation 
at  the  ingenious  way  in  which  he  can  always  find  some- 
thing to  laugh  at  in  our  most  cherished  beliefs  and 
institutions;  but  the  idol-breaker  has  always  been 
necessary  to  the  progress  of  mankind. 

It  is  difficult,  in  view  of  Butler's  personal,  self-cen- 
tered existence  and  his  complacent  admiration  for 
Samuel  Butler,  to  call  him  a  really  great  man ;  but 
there  is  no  doubt  whatever,  that  if  greatness  be  meas- 
ured by  servnce  and  usefulness  in  the  kingdom  of  the 
mind  and  morals,  he  docs  deserve  that  overworked 
adjective  "great." 

He  irritates,  but  he  does  make  the  reader  think  for 
himself — provided,  of  course,  that  such  a  proceeding 
is  possible  for  him. 

He  denies  absolutely  that  there  is  any  virtue  in 
moral  cowardice,  any  sanctity  in  time-honored  hum- 
bug or  any  holiness  in  official  assininity ;  and  for  this 
the  men  of  a  later  day,  who  are  perhaps  a  little  better 
prepared  than  his  own  generation  to  listen  and  learn 
and  laugh,  owe  him  their  gratitude. 

MOREBY   ACKLOM. 

Nciu  York, 
February,  iqpo. 


EREWHON  REVISITED 


EREWHON  REVISITED 


CHAPTER  I 

UPS  AND  DOWNS  OF  FORTUNE MY  FATHER  STARTS 

FOR  EREWHON 

Before  telling  the  story  of  my  father's  second  visit 
to  the  remarkable  country  which  he  discovered  now 
some  thirty  years  since,  I  should  perhaps  say  a  few 
words'  about  his  career  between  the  publication  of  his 
book  in  1872,  and  his  death  in  the  early  summer  of 
1 89 1.  I  shall  thus  touch  briefly  on  the  causes  that  occa- 
sioned his  failure  to  maintain  that  hold  on  the  public 
which  he  had  apparently  secured  at  first. 

His  book,  as  the  reader  may  perhaps  know,  was  pub- 
lished anonymously,  and  my  poor  father  used  to  ascribe 
the  acclamation  with  which  it  was  received,  to  the  fact 
that  no  one  knew  who  it  might  not  have  been  written 
by.  Omne  icjnottim  pro  magnifico,  and  during  its 
month  of  anonymity  the  book  was  a  frequent  topic  of 
appreciative  comment  in  good  literary  circles.  Almost 
coincidently  with  the  discovery  that  he  was  a  mere  no- 
body, people  Ixigan  to  feel  that  their  admiration  had 
been  too  hastily  bestowed,  and  before  long  opinion 
turned  all  the  more  seriously  against  him  for  this  very 
reason.     The  subscription,  to  which  the  Lord  Mayor 


2  Erewhon  Revisited 

had  at  first  given  his  cordial  support,  was  curtly  an- 
nounced as  closed  before  it  had  been  opened  a  week; 
it  had  met  with  so  little  success  that  I  will  not  specify 
the  amount  eventually  handed  over,  not  without  pro- 
test, to  my  father ;  small,  however,  at  is  was,  he  nar- 
rowly escaped  being  prosecuted  for  trying  to  obtain 
money  under  false  pretences. 

The  Geographical  Society,  which  had  for  a  few  days 
received  him  with  open  arms,  was  among  the  first  to 
turn  upon  him — not,  so  far  as  I  can  ascertain,  on 
account  of  the  mystery  in  which  he  had  enshrouded  the 
exact  whereabouts  of  Erewhon,  nor  yet  by  reason  of  its 
being  persistently  alleged  that  he  was  subject  to  fre- 
quent attacks  of  alcoholic  poisoning — but  through  his 
own  want  of  tact,  and  a  highly-strung  nervous  state, 
which  led  him  to  attach  too  much  importance  to  his 
own  discoveries,  and  not  enough  to  those  of  other 
people.  This,  at  least,  was  my  father's  version  of  the 
matter,  as  I  heard  it  from  his  own  lips  in  the  later 
years  of  his  life. 

"I  was  still  very  young,"  he  said  to  me,  "and  my 
mind  was  more  or  less  unhinged  by  the  strangeness  and 
peril  of  my  adventures."  Be  this  as  it  may  I  fear 
there  is  no  doubt  that  he  was  injudicious;  and  an 
ounce  of  judgment  is  worth  a  pound  of  discovery. 

Hence,  in  a  surprisingly  short  time,  he  found  him- 
self dropped  even  by  those  who  had  taken  him  up  most 
warmly,  and  had  done  most  to  find  him  that  employ- 
ment as  a  writer  of  religious  tracts  on  which  his  liveli- 
hood was  then  dependent.  The  discredit,  however,  into 
which  my  father  fell,  had  the  effect  of  deterring  any 
considerable  number  of  people  from  trying  to  redis- 
cover Erewhon,  and  thus  caused  it  to  remain  as  un- 


Ups  and  Downs  3 

known  to  geographers  in  general  as  though  it  had 
never  been  found.  A  few  shepherds  and  cadets  at  up- 
country  stations  had,  indeed,  tried  to  follow  in  my 
father's  footsteps,  during  the  time  when  his  book  was 
still  being  taken  seriously ;  but  they  had  most  of  them 
returned,  unable  to  face  the  difficulties  that  had  opposed 
them.  Some  few,  however,  had  not  returned,  and 
though  search  was  made  for  them,  their  bodies  had  not 
been  found.  When  he  reached  Erewhon  on  his  second 
visit,  my  father  learned  that  others  had  attempted  to 
visit  the  country  more  recently — probably  quite  inde- 
pendently of  his  own  book ;  and  before  he  had  himself 
been  in  it  many  hours  he  gathered  what  the  fate  of 
these  poor  fellows  doubtless  was. 

Another  reason  that  made  it  more  easy  for  Erewhon 
to  remain  unknown,  was  the  fact  that  the  more  moun- 
tainous districts,  though  repeatedly  prospected  for  gold, 
had  been  pronounced  non-auriferous,  and  as  there  was 
no  sheep  or  cattle  country,  save  a  few  river-bed  flats 
above  the  upper  gorges  of  any  of  the  rivers,  and  no 
game  to  tempt  the  sportsman,  there  was  nothing  to 
induce  people  to  penetrate  into  the  fastnesses  of  the 
great  snowy  range.  No  more,  therefore,  being  heard 
of  Erewhon,  my  father's  book  came  to  be  regarded  as 
a  mere  work  of  fiction,  and  I  have  heard  quite  re- 
cently of  its  having  been  seen  on  a  second-hand  book- 
stall, marked  "6d.,  very  readable." 

Though  there  was  no  tnith  in  the  stories  about  my 
father's  Ix-ing  subject  to  attacks  of  alcoholic  poisoning, 
yet,  during  the  first  few  years  after  his  return  to  Eng- 
land, his  occasional  fits  of  ungovernable  excitement 
gave  some  colour  to  the  opinion  that  much  of  what  he 
said  he  had  seen  and  done  might  be  only  subjectively 


4  Erewhon  Revisited 

true.  I  refer  more  particularly  to  his  interview  with 
Chowbok  in  the  wool-shed,  and  his  highly  coloured 
description  of  the  statues  on  tlie  top  of  the  pass  leading 
into  Erewhon.  These  were  soon  set  down  as  forgeries 
of  delirium,  and  it  was  maliciously  urged,  that  though 
in  his  book  he  had  only  admitted  having  taken  "two 
or  three  bottles  of  brandy"  with  him,  he  had  probably 
taken  at  least  a  dozen;  and  that  if  on  the  night  before 
he  reached  the  statues  he  had  "only  four  ounces  of 
brandy"  left,  he  must  have  been  drinking  heavily  for 
the  preceding  fortnight  or  three  weeks.  Those  who 
read  the  following  pages  will,  I  think,  reject  all  idea 
that  my  father  was  in  a  state  of  delirium,  not  without 
surprise  that  any  one  should  have  ever  entertained  it. 
It  was  Chowbok  who,  if  he  did  not  originate  these 
calumnies,  did  much  to  disseminate  and  gain  credence 
for  them.  He  remained  in  England  for  some  years, 
and  never  tired  of  doing  what  he  could  to  disparage 
my  father.  The  cunning  creature  had  ingratiated  him- 
self with  our  leading  religious  societies,  especially  with 
the  more  evangelical  among  them.  Whatever  doubt 
there  might  be  about  his  sincerity,  there  was  none  about 
his  colour,  and  a  coloured  convert  in  those  days  was 
more  than  Exeter  Hall  could  resist.  Chowbok  saw 
that  there  was  no  room  for  him  and  for  my  father, 
and  declared  my  poor  father's  story  to  be  almost 
wholly  false.  It  was  true,  he  said,  that  he  and  my 
father  had  explored  the  head-waters  of  the  river  des- 
cribed in  his  book,  but  he  denied  that  my  father  had 
gone  on  without  him,  and  he  named  the  river  as  one 
distant  by  many  thousands  of  miles  from  the  one  it 
really  was.  He  said  that  after  about  a  fortnight  he  had 
returned  in  company  with  my  father,  who  by  that  time 


Ups  and  Downs  5 

had  become  incapacitated  for  further  travel.  At  this 
point  he  would  shrug  his  shoulders,  look  mysterious, 
and  thus  say  "alcoholic  poisoning"  even  more  effec- 
tively than  if  he  had  uttered  the  words  themselves.  For 
a  man's  tongue  lies  often  in  his  shoulders. 

Readers  of  my  father's  book  will  remember  that 
Chowbok  had  given  a  very  different  version  when  he 
had  returned  to  his  employer's  station;  but  Time 
and  Distance  afford  cover  under  which  falsehood  can 
often  do  truth  to  death  securely. 

I  never  understood  why  my  father  did  not  bring 
my  mother  forward  to  confirm  his  story.  He  may 
have  done  so  while  I  was  too  young  to  know  anything 
about  it.  But  when  people  have  made  up  their  minds, 
they  are  impatient  of  further  evidence;  my  mother, 
moreover,  was  of  a  very  retiring  disposition.  The 
ItaUans  say: — 

*'Chi  lontano  va  ammogliare 
Sara  ingannato,  o  vorra  ingannare." 

"If  a  man  goes  far  afield  for  a  wife,  he  will  be  de- 
ceived— or  means  deceiving."  The  proverb  is  as  true 
for  women  as  for  men,  and  my  mother  was  never  quite 
happy  in  her  new  surroundings.  Wilfully  deceived  she 
assuredly  was  not,  but  she  could  not  accustom  herself 
to  English  modes  of  thought;  indeed  she  never  even 
nearly  ma.stercd  our  language ;  my  father  always  talked 
with  her  in  Krewhonian,  and  so  did  T,  for  as  a  child 
she  had  taught  me  to  do  so,  and  I  was  as  fluent  with 
her  language  as  with  my  father's.  In  this  respect  she 
often  told  me  T  could  pass  myself  off  anywhere  in 
Erewhon  as  a  native ;  I  shared  also  her  personal  appear- 
ance, for  though  not  wholly  unlike  my  father,  1  had 


6  Erewhon  Revisited 

taken  more  closely  after  my  mother.  In  mind,  if  I 
may  venture  to  say  so,  I  believe  I  was  more  like  my 
father. 

I  may  as  well  here  inform  the  reader  that  I  was 
born  at  the  end  of  September,  1871,  and  was  christened 
John,  after  my  grandfather.  From  what  I  have  said 
above  he  will  readily  believe  that  my  earliest  experi- 
ences were  somewhat  squalid.  Memories  of  childhood 
rush  vividly  upon  me  when  I  pass  through  a  low 
London  alley  and  catch  the  faint  sickly  smell  that 
pervades  it — half  paraffin,  half  black-currants,  but 
wholly  something  very  different.  I  have  a  fancy  that 
we  lived  in  Blackmoor  Street,  off  Drury  Lane.  My 
father,  when  first  I  knew  of  his  doing  anything  at  all, 
supported  my  mother  and  myself  by  drawing  pictures 
with  coloured  chalks  upon  the  pavement ;  I  used  some- 
times to  watch  him,  and  marvel  at  the  skill  with  which 
he  represented  fogs,  floods,  and  fires.  These  three 
"f's,"  he  would  say,  were  his  three  best  friends,  for 
they  were  easy  to  do  and  brought  in  halfpence  freely. 
The  return  of  the  dove  to  the  ark  was  his  favourite 
subject.  Such  a  little  ark,  on  such  a  hazy  morning,  and 
such  a  little  pigeon — the  rest  of  the  picture  being  cheap 
sky,  and  still  cheaper  sea ;  nothing,  I  have  often  heard 
him  say,  was  more  popular  than  this  with  his  clients. 
He  held  it  to  be  his  masterpiece,  but  would  add  with 
some  naivete  that  he  considered  himself  a  public  bene- 
factor for  carrying  it  out  in  such  perishable  fashion. 
"At  any  rate,"  he  would  say,  "no  one  can  bequeath  one 
of  my  many  replicas  to  the  nation." 

I  never  learned  how  much  my  father  earned  by  his 
profession,  but  it  must  have  been  something  consid- 
erable, for  we  always  had  enough  to  eat  and  drink ;  I 


Ups  and  Downs  7 

imagine  that  he  did  better  than  many  a  struggHng  artist 
with  more  ambitious  aims.  He  was  strictly  temperate 
during  all  ihe  time  that  I  knew  anything  about  him,  but 
he  was  not  a  teetotaler ;  I  never  saw  any  of  the  fits  of 
nervous  excitement  which  in  his  earlier  years  had  done 
so  much  to  wreck  him.  In  the  evenings,  and  on  days 
when  the  state  of  the  pavement  did  not  permit  him 
to  work,  he  took  great  pains  with  my  education,  which 
he  could  very  well  do,  for  as  a  boy  he  had  been  in  the 
sixth  form  of  one  of  our  foremost  public  schools.  I 
found  him  a  patient,  kindly  instructor,  while  to  my 
mother  he  was  a  model  husband.  Whatever  others 
may  have  said  about  him,  I  can  never  think  of  him 
without  very  affectionate  respect. 

Things  went  on  quietly  enough,  as  above  indicated, 
till  I  was  a1)out  fourteen,  when  by  a  streak  of  fortune 
my  father  became  suddenly  affluent.  A  brother  of  his 
father's  had  emigrated  to  Australia  in  185 1,  and  had 
amassed  great  wealth.  We  knew  of  his  existence,  but 
there  had  been  no  intercourse  between  him  and  my 
father,  and  we  did  not  even  know  that  he  was  rich  and 
unmarried.  He  died  intestate  towards  the  end  of  1885, 
and  my  father  was  the  only  relative  he  had,  except, 
of  course,  myself,  for  both  my  father's  sisters  had  died 
young,  and  without  leaving  children. 

The  solicitor  through  whom  the  news  reached  us 
was,  happily,  a  man  of  the  highest  integrity,  and  also 
very  sensible  and  kind.  He  was  a  Mr.  .Mfrcd  Kmcry 
Cathie,  of  15  Clifford's  Inn,  E.C.,  and  my  father  placed 
himself  unreservedly  in  his  hands.  I  was  at  once  sent 
to  a  first-rate  school,  and  such  pains  had  my  father 
taken  with  nic  that  I  was  placed  in  a  higher  form  than 
might  have  l)cen  expected  considering  my  age.     The 


8  Erewhon  Revisited 

way  in  which  he  had  taught  me  had  prevented  my  feel- 
ing any  dislike  for  study ;  I  therefore  stuck  fairly  well 
to  my  books,  while  not  neglecting  the  games  which  are 
so  important  a  part  of  healthy  education.  Everything 
went  well  with  me,  both  as  regards  masters  and  school- 
fellows; nevertheless,  I  was  declared  to  be  of  a  highly 
nervous  and  imaginative  temperament,  and  the  school 
doctor  more  than  once  urged  our  headmaster  not  to 
push  me  forward  too  rapidly — for  which  I  have  ever 
since  held  myself  his  debtor. 

Early  in  1890,  I  being  then  home  from  Oxford 
(where  I  had  been  entered  in  the  preceding  year),  my 
mother  died ;  not  so  much  from  active  illness,  as  from 
what  was  in  reality  a  kind  of  maladie  du  pays.  All 
along  she  had  felt  herself  an  exile,  and  though  she  had 
borne  up  wonderfully  during  my  father's  long  struggle 
with  adversity,  she  began  to  break  as  soon  as  pros- 
perity had  removed  the  necessity  for  exertion  on  her 
own  part. 

]\Iy  father  could  never  divest  himself  of  the  feeling 
that  he  had  wrecked  her  life  by  inducing  her  to  share 
her  lot  with  his  own ;  to  say  that  he  was  stricken  with 
remorse  on  losing  her  is  not  enough;  he  had  been 
so  stricken  almost  from  the  first  year  of  his  marriage; 
on  her  death  he  was  haunted  by  the  wrong  he  accused 
himself — as  it  seems  to  me  very  unjustly — of  having 
done  her,  for  it  was  neither  his  fault  nor  hers — it  was 
Ate. 

His  unrest  soon  assumed  the  form  of  a  burning 
desire  to  revisit  the  country  in  which  he  and  my  mother 
had  been  happier  together  than  perhaps  they  ever 
again  were.  I  had  often  heard  him  betray  a  hankering 
after  a  return  to  Erewhon,  disguised  so  that  no  one 


Ups  and  Downs  9 

should  recognise  him ;  but  as  long  as  my  mother  lived 
he  would  not  leave  her.  When  death  had  taken  her 
from  him,  he  so  evidently  stood  in  need  of  a  complete 
change  of  scene,  that  even  those  friends  who  had  most 
strongly  dissuaded  him  from  what  they  deemed  a  mad- 
cap enterprise,  thought  it  better  to  leave  him  to  himself. 
It  would  have  mattered  little  how  much  they  tried  to 
dissuade  him,  for  before  long  his  passionate  longing 
for  the  journey  became  so  overmastering  that  nothing 
short  of  restraint  in  prison  or  a  madhouse  could  have 
stayed  his  going ;  but  we  were  not  easy  about  him. 

"He  had  better  go,"  said  Mr.  Cathie  to  me,  when  I 
was  at  home  for  the  Easter  vacation,  "and  get  it  over. 
He  is  not  well,  but  he  is  still  in  the  prime  of  life;  doubt- 
less he  will  come  back  with  renewed  health  and  will 
settle  down  to  a  quiet  home  life  again." 

This,  however,  was  not  said  till  it  had  become  plain 
that  in  a  few  days  my  father  would  be  on  his  way. 
He  had  made  a  new  will,  and  left  an  ample  power  of 
attorney  with  Mr.  Cathie — or,  as  we  always  called 
him,  Alfred — who  was  to  supply  me  with  whatever 
money  I  wanted  :  he  had  put  all  other  matters  in  order 
in  case  anything  should  happen  to  prevent  his  ever  re- 
turning, and  he  set  out  on  October  i,  1890,  more  com- 
posed and  cheerful  than  I  had  seen  him  for  some  time 
past. 

I  had  not  realised  how  serious  the  danger  to  my 
father  would  l)e  if  he  were  recognised  while  he  was 
in  Erewhon,  for  I  am  ashamed  to  say  that  I  had  not 
yet  read  his  book.  T  had  heard  over  and  over  again  of 
his  flight  with  my  mother  in  the  balloon,  and  had  long 
since  read  his  few  ()j)cning  chapters,  but  I  had  found, 
as  a  boy  naturally  would,  that  the  succeeding  pages 


10  Erewhon  Revisited 

were  a  little  dull,  and  soon  put  the  book  aside.  My 
father,  indeed,  repeatedly  urged  me  not  to  read  it,  for 
he  said  there  was  much  in  it — more  especially  in  the 
earlier  chapters,  which  I  had  alone  found  interesting — 
that  he  would  gladly  cancel  if  he  could.  "But  there!" 
he  had  said  with  a  laugh,  "what  does  it  matter?" 

He  had  hardly  left,  before  I  read  his  book  from 
end  to  end,  and,  on  having  done  so,  not  only  appreci- 
ated the  risks  that  he  would  have  to  run,  but  was  struck 
with  the  wide  difference  between  his  character  as  he  had 
himself  portrayed  it,  and  the  estimate  I  had  formed  of 
it  from  personal  knowledge.  When,  on  his  return,  he 
detailed  to  me  his  adventures,  the  account  he  gave  of 
what  he  had  said  and  done  corresponded  with  my  own 
ideas  concerning  him;  but  I  doubt  not  the  reader  will 
see  that  the  twenty  years  between  his  first  and  second 
visit  had  modified  him  even  more  than  so  long  an  in- 
terval might  be  expected  to  do. 

I  heard  from  him  repeatedly  during  the  first  two 
months  of  his  absence,  and  was  surprised  to  find  that 
he  had  stayed  for  a  week  or  ten  days  at  more  than  one 
place  of  call  on  his  outward  journey.  On  November  26 
he  wrote  from  the  port  whence  he  was  to  start  for  Ere- 
whon, seemingly  in  good  health  and  spirits ;  and  on  De- 
cember 27,  1 89 1,  he  telegraphed  for  a  hundred  pounds 
to  be  wired  out  to  him  at  this  same  port.  This  puzzled 
both  Mr.  Cathie  and  myself,  for  the  interval  between 
November  26  and  December  27  seemed  too  short  to 
admit  of  his  having  paid  his  visit  to  Erewhon  and 
returned ;  as,  moreover,  he  had  added  the  words,  "Com- 
ing home,"  we  rather  hoped  that  he  had  abandoned  his 
intention  of  going  there. 

We  were  also  surprised  at  his  wanting  so  much 


Ups  and  Downs  ii 

money,  for  he  had  taken  a  hundred  pounds  in  gold, 
which,  from  some  fancy,  he  had  stowed  in  a  small 
silver  jewel-box  that  he  had  given  my  mother  not  long 
before  she  died.  He  had  also  taken  a  hundred  pounds' 
worth  of  gold  nuggets,  which  he  had  intended  to  sell  in 
Erewhon  so  as  to  provide  himself  with  money  when  he 
got  there. 

I  should  explain  that  these  nuggets  would  be  worth 
in  Erewhon  fully  ten  times  as  much  as  they  would  in 
Europe,  owing  to  the  great  scarcity  of  gold  in  that 
country.  The  Erewhonian  coinage  is  entirely  silver — 
which  is  abundant,  and  worth  much  what  it  is  in  Eng- 
land— or  copper,  which  is  also  plentiful;  but  what  we 
should  call  five  pounds'  worth  of  silver  m.oney  would 
not  buy  more  than  one  of  our  half-sovereigns  in  gold. 

He  had  put  his  nuggets  into  ten  brown  holland  bags, 
and  he  had  had  secret  pockets  made  for  the  old  Ere- 
whonian dress  which  he  had  worn  when  he  had  es- 
caped, so  that  he  need  never  have  more  than  one  bag  of 
nuggets  accessible  at  a  time.  He  was  not  likely,  there- 
fore to  have  been  robbed.  His  passage  to  the  port 
above  referred  to  had  been  paid  before  he  started,  and 
it  seemed  impossible  that  a  man  of  his  very  inexpensive 
habits  should  have  spent  two  hundred  pounds  in  a  sin- 
gle month — for  the  nuggets  would  be  immediately  con- 
vertible in  an  English  colony.  There  was  nothing, 
however,  to  be  done  but  to  cable  out  the  money  and 
wait  my  father's  arrival. 

Returning  for  a  moment  to  my  father's  old  Ere- 
whonian dress,  I  should  say  that  he  had  preserved  it 
simply  as  a  memento  and  without  any  idea  that  he 
should  again  want  it.  It  was  not  the  court  dress  that 
had  been  provided  for  him  on  the  occasion  of  his  visit 


12  Erewhon  Revisited 

to  the  king  and  queen,  but  the  everyday  clothing  that 
he  had  been  ordered  to  wear  when  he  was  put  in 
prison,  though  his  EngHsh  coat,  waistcoat,  and  trousers 
had  been  allowed  to  remain  in  his  own  possession. 
These,  I  had  seen  from  his  book,  had  been  presented 
by  him  to  the  queen  (with  the  exception  of  two  but- 
tons, which  he  had  given  to  Yram  as  a  keepsake),  and 
had  been  preserved  by  her  displayed  upon  a  wooden 
dummy.  The  dress  in  which  he  had  escaped  had  been 
soiled  during  the  hours  that  he  and  my  mother  had 
been  in  the  sea,  and  had  also  suffered  from  neglect  dur- 
ing the  years  of  his  poverty;  but  he  wished  to  pass 
himself  off  as  a  common  peasant  or  working-man,  so 
he  preferred  to  have  it  set  in  order  as  might  best  be 
done,  rather  than  copied. 

So  cautious  was  he  in  the  matter  of  dress  that  he 
took  with  him  the  boots  he  had  worn  on  leaving 
Erewhon,  lest  the  foreign  make  of  his  English  boots 
should  arouse  suspicion.  They  were  nearly  new,  and 
when  he  had  had  them  softened  and  well  greased,  he 
found  he  could  still  wear  them  quite  comfortably. 

But  to  return.  He  reached  home  late  at  night  one 
day  at  the  beginning  of  February,  and  a  glance  was 
enough  to  show  that  he  was  an  altered  man. 

"What  is  the  matter?"  said  I,  shocked  at  his  appear- 
ance. "Did  you  go  to  Erewhon,  and  were  you  ill- 
treated  there?" 

'T  went  to  Erewhon,"  he  said,  "and  I  was  not  ill- 
treated  there,  but  I  have  been  so  shaken  that  I  fear 
I  shall  quite  lose  my  reason.  Do  not  ask  me  more  now. 
I  will  tell  you  about  it  all  to-morrow.  Let  me  have 
something  to  eat,  and  go  to  bed." 

When  we  met  at  breakfast  next  morning,  he  greeted 


Ups  and  Downs  13 

me  with  all  his  usual  warmth  of  affection,  but  he  was 
still  taciturn.  "I  will  begin  to  tell  you  about  it,"  he 
said,  "after  breakfast.  Where  is  your  dear  mother? 
How  was  it  tliat  I  have  .  .  ." 

Then  of  a  sudden  his  memory  returned,  and  he  burst 
into  tears. 

I  now  saw,  to  my  horror,  that  his  mind  was  gone. 
When  he  recovered,  he  said:  "It  has  all  come  back 
again,  but  at  times  now  I  am  a  blank,  and  every  week 
am  more  and  more  so.  I  daresay  I  shall  be  sensible 
now  for  several  hours.  We  will  go  into  the  study  after 
breakfast,  and  I  will  talk  to  you  as  long  as  I  can  do  so." 
•  Let  the  reader  spare  me,  and  let  me  spare  the  reader 
any  description  of  what  we  both  of  us  felt. 

When  we  were  in  the  study,  my  father  said,  "My 
dearest  boy,  get  pen  and  paper  and  take  notes  of  what 
I  tell  you.  It  will  all  be  disjointed ;  one  day  I  shall  re- 
mcm1:)er  this,  and  another  that,  but  there  will  not  be 
many  more  days  on  which  I  shall  remember  anything 
at  all.  I  cannot  write  a  coherent  page.  You,  when 
T  am  gone,  can  piece  what  I  tell  you  together,  and  tell 
it  as  I  should  have  told  it  if  I  had  been  still  sound. 
But  do  not  publish  it  yet;  it  might  do  harm  to  those 
dear  good  people.  Take  the  notes  now,  and  arrange 
them  the  sooner  tiic  belter,  for  you  may  want  to  ask 
me  questions,  and  I  shall  not  be  here  much  longer. 
Let  publishing  wait  till  you  arc  confident  that  pubh'ca- 
tion  can  do  no  harm ;  and  a1)ove  all,  say  nothing  to  be- 
tray the  whereabouts  of  Erewhon,  beyond  admitting 
(which  T  fear  T  have  already  done)  that  it  is  in  the 
Southern  hemisphere." 

These  instructions  I  have  religiously  obeyed.  For 
the  first  days  after  his  return,  my  father  had  few  at- 


14  Erewhon  Revisited 

tacks  of  loss  of  memory,  and  I  was  in  hopes  that  his 
former  health  of  mind  would  return  when  he  found 
himself  in  his  old  surroundings.  During  these  days 
he  poured  forth  the  story  of  his  adventures  so  fast, 
that  if  I  had  not  had  a  fancy  for  acquiring  shorthand, 
I  should  not  have  been  able  to  keep  pace  with  him.  I 
repeatedly  urged  him  not  to  overtax  his  strength,  but 
he  was  oppressed  by  the  fear  that  if  he  did  not  speak 
at  once,  he  might  never  be  able  to  tell  me  all  he  had 
to  say;  I  had,  therefore,  to  submit,  though  seeing 
plainly  enough  that  he  was  only  hastening  the  complete 
paralysis  which  he  so  greatly  feared. 

Sometimes  his  narrative  would  be  coherent  for  pages 
together,  and  he  could  answer  any  questions  without 
hesitation ;  at  others,  he  was  now  here  and  now  there, 
and  if  I  tried  to  keep  him  to  the  order  of  events  he 
would  say  that  he  had  forgotten  intermediate  inci- 
dents, but  that  they  would  probably  come  back  to  him, 
and  I  should  perhaps  be  able  to  put  them  in  their 
proper  places. 

After  about  ten  days  he  seemed  satisfied  that  I  had 
got  all  the  facts,  and  that  with  the  help  of  the  pam- 
phlets which  he  had  brought  with  him  I  should  be  able 
to  make  out  a  connected  story.  "Remember,"  he  said, 
"that  I  thought  I  was  quite  well  so  long  as  I  was  in 
Erewhon,  and  do  not  let  me  appear  as  anything  else." 

When  he  had  fully  delivered  himself,  he  seemed 
easier  in  his  mind,  but  before  a  month  had  passed  he 
became  completely  paralysed,  and  though  he  lingered 
till  the  beginning  of  June,  he  was  seldom  more  than 
dimly  conscious  of  what  was  going  on  around  him. 

His  death  robbed  me  of  one  who  had  been  a  very 
kind  and  upright  elder  brother  rather  than  a  father; 


Ups  and  Downs  15 

and  so  strongly  have  I  felt  his  influence  still  present, 
living  and  working,  as  I  believe  for  better  within  me, 
that  I  did  not  hesitate  to  copy  the  epitaph  which  he  saw 
in  the  jMtisical  Bank  at  Fairmead,*  and  to  have  it  in- 
scribed on  the  very  simple  monument  which  he  desired 
should  alone  mark  his  grave. 


The  foregoing  was  written  in  the  summer  of  1891 ; 
what  I  now  add  should  be  dated  December  3,  1900.  If, 
in  the  course  of  my  work,  I  have  misrepresented  my 
father,  as  I  fear  I  may  have  sometimes  done,  I  would 
ask  my  readers  to  rememl^er  that  no  man  can  tell 
another's  story  without  some  involuntary  misrepresen- 
tation both  of  facts  and  characters.  They  will,  of 
course,  see  that  "Erewhon  Revisited"  is  written  by  one 
who  has  far  less  literary  skill  than  the  author  of  "Ere- 
whon" ;  but  again  I  would  ask  indulgence  on  the  score 
of  youth,  and  the  fact  that  this  is  my  first  book.  It 
was  written  nearly  ten  years  ago,  i.e.,  in  the  months 
from  March  to  August,  1891,  but  for  reasons  already 
given  it  could  not  then  be  made  public.  I  have  now 
received  pennission,  and  therefore  publish  the  follow- 
ing chapters,  exactly,  or  very  nearly  exactly,  as  they 
were  left  when  I  had  finished  editing  my  father's  dia- 
ries, and  the  notes  I  took  down  from  his  own  mouth — 
with  the  exception,  of  course,  of  these  last  few  lines, 
hurriedly  written  as  I  am  on  the  point  of  leaving  Eng- 
land, of  the  additions  I  made  in  1892,  on  returning 
from  my  own  three  hours'  stay  in  Ercwhon,  and  of  the 

Postscript. 

♦  Sec  Chapter  X. 


CHAPTER  II 

TO  THE  FOOT  OF  THE  PASS   INTO  EREWHON 

When  my  father  reached  the  colony  for  which  he 
had  left  England  some  twenty-two  years  previously, 
he  bought  a  horse,  and  started  up  country  on  the  even- 
ing of  the  day  after  his  arrival,  which  was,  as  I  have 
said,  on  one  of  the  last  days  of  November,  1890.  He 
had  taken  an  English  saddle  with  him,  and  a  couple 
of  roomy  and  strongly  made  saddle-bags.  In  these  he 
packed  his  money,  his  nuggets,  some  tea,  sugar,  to- 
bacco, salt,  a  flask  of  brandy,  matches,  and  as  many 
ship's  biscuits  as  he  thought  he  was  likely  to  want ;  he 
took  no  meat,  for  he  could  supply  himself  from  some 
accommodation-house  or  sheep-station,  when  nearing 
the  point  after  which  he  would  have  to  begin  camping 
out.  He  rolled  his  Erewhonian  dress  and  small  toilette 
necessaries  inside  a  warm  red  blanket,  and  strapped 
the  roll  on  to  the  front  part  of  his  saddle.  On  to  other 
D's,  with  which  his  saddle  was  amply  provided,  he 
strapped  his  Erewhonian  boots,  a  tin  pannikin,  and  a 
billy  that  would  hold  about  a  quart.  I  should,  per- 
haps, explain  to  English  readers  that  a  billy  is  a  tin 
can,  the  name  for  which  (doubtless  of  French  Cana- 
dian origin)  is  derived  from  the  words  "faire  houillir." 
He  also  took  with  him  a  pair  of  hobbles  and  a  small 
hatchet. 

He  spent  three  whole  days  in  riding  across  the  plains, 

16 


To  the  Pass  17 

and  was  struck  with  the  very  small  signs  of  change  that 
he  could  detect,  but  the  fall  in  wool,  and  the  failure, 
so  far,  to  establish  a  frozen  meat  trade,  had  prevented 
any  material  development  of  the  resources  of  the  coun- 
try. When  he  had  got  to  the  front  ranges,  he  followed 
up  the  river  next  to  the  north  of  the  one  that  he  had 
explored  years  ago,  and  from  the  head  waters  of  which 
he  had  l^een  led  to  discover  the  only  practicable  pass 
into  Erewhon.  He  did  this,  partly  to  avoid  the  terribly 
dangerous  descent  on  to  the  bed  of  the  more  northern 
river,  and  partly  to  escape  being  seen  by  shepherds  or 
bullock-drivers  who  might  remember  him. 

If  he  had  attempted  to  get  through  the  gorge  of  this 
river  in  1870,  he  would  have  found  it  impassable;  but 
a  few  river-bed  flats  had  been  discovered  above  the 
gorge,  on  which  there  was  now  a  shepherd's  hut,  and 
on  the  discovery  of  these  flats  a  narrow  horse  track  had 
been  made  from  one  end  of  the  gorge  to  the  other. 

He  was  hospitably  entertained  at  the  shepherd's 
hut  just  mentioned,  which  he  reached  on  Monday,  De- 
ceml)er  i.  He  told  the  shepherd  in  charge  of  it  that 
he  had  come  to  see  if  he  could  find  traces  of  a  large 
wingless  bird,  whose  existence  had  been  reported  as 
having  been  discovered  among  the  extreme  head 
waters  of  the  river. 

"Be  careful,  sir,"  said  the  shepherd;  "the  river  is 
very  dangerous ;  several  people — one  only  about  a  year 
ag(j — have  left  this  hut,  and  though  their  horses  and 
their  camps  have  been  found,  their  bodies  have  not. 
When  a  great  fresh  comes  down,  it  would  carry  a  body 
out  to  sea  in  twenty-four  hf)urs." 

He  evidently  had  no   idea  that  there  was  a  pass 


l8  Erevvhon  Revisited 

through  tlie  ranges  up  the  river,  which  might  explain 
the  disappearance  of  an  explorer. 

Next  day  my  father  began  to  ascend  the  river.  There 
was  so  much  tangled  growth  still  unburnt  wherever 
there  was  room  for  it  to  grow,  and  so  much  swamp, 
that  my  father  had  to  keep  almost  entirely  to  the  river- 
bed— and  here  there  was  a  good  deal  of  quicksand. 
The  stones  also  were  often  large  for  some  distance  to- 
gether, and  he  had  to  cross  and  recross  streams  of  the 
river  more  than  once,  so  that  though  he  travelled  all 
day  with  the  exception  of  a  couple  of  hours  for  dinner, 
he  had  not  made  more  than  some  five  and  twenty  miles 
when  he  reached  a  suitable  camping  ground,  where  he 
unsaddled  his  horse,  hobbled  him,  and  turned  him  out 
to  feed.  The  grass  was  beginning  to  seed,  so  that 
though  it  was  none  too  plentiful,  what  there  was  of  it 
made  excellent  feed. 

He  lit  his  fire,  made  himself  some  tea,  ate  his  cold 
mutton  and  biscuits,  and  lit  his  pipe,  exactly  as  he  had 
done  twenty  years  before.  There  was  the  clear  starlit 
sky,  the  rushing  river,  and  the  stunted  trees  on  the 
mountain-side;  the  woodhens  cried,  and  the  "more- 
pork"  hooted  out  her  two  monotonous  notes  exactly  as 
they  had  done  years  since ;  one  moment,  and  time  had 
so  flown  backwards  that  youth  came  bounding  back 
to  him  with  the  return  of  his  youth's  surroundings ;  the 
next,  and  the  intervening  twenty  years — most  of  them 
grim  ones — rose  up  mockingly  before  him,  and  the 
buoyancy  of  hope  yielded  to  the  despondency  of  ad- 
mitted failure.  By  and  by  buoyancy  reasserted  itself, 
and,  soothed  by  the  peace  and  beauty  of  the  night,  he 
wrapped  himself  up  in  his  blanket  and  dropped  off  into 
a  dreamless  slumber. 


To  the  Pass  19 

Next  morning,  i.e.,  December  3,  he  rose  soon  after 
dawn,  bathed  in  a  backwater  of  the  river,  got  his  break- 
fast, found  his  horse  on  the  river-bed,  and  started  as 
soon  as  he  had  duly  packed  and  loaded.  He  had  now 
to  cross  streams  of  the  river  and  recross  them  more 
often  than  on  the  preceding  day,  and  this,  though  his 
horse  took  well  to  the  water,  required  care ;  for  he  was 
anxious  not  to  wet  his  saddle-bags,  and  it  was  only 
by  crossing  at  the  wide,  smooth,  water  above  a  rapid, 
and  by  picking  places  where  the  river  ran  in  two  or 
three  streams,  that  he  could  find  fords  where  his  prac- 
tised eye  told  him  that  the  water  would  not  be  above 
his  horse's  belly — for  the  river  was  of  great  volume. 
Fortunately,  there  had  been  a  late  fall  of  snow  on  the 
higher  ranges,  and  the  river  was,  for  the  summer  sea- 
son, low. 

Towards  evening,  having  travelled,  so  far  as  he 
could  guess,  some  twenty  or  five  and  twenty  miles  (for 
he  had  made  another  mid-day  halt),  he  reached  the 
place,  which  he  easily  recognised,  as  that  where  he 
had  camped  before  crossing  to  the  pass  that  led  into 
Erewhon.  It  was  the  last  piece  of  ground  that  could 
be  called  a  fiat  (though  it  was  in  reality  only  the  sloping 
delta  of  a  stream  that  descended  from  the  pass)  before 
reaching  a  large  glacier  that  had  encroached  on  the 
rivcr-lx'd,  which  it  traversed  at  right  angles  for  a  con- 
siderable distance. 

Here  he  again  camped,  hobbled  his  horse,  and  turned 
him  adrift,  hoping  that  he  might  again  find  him  some 
two  or  three  months  hence,  for  there  was  a  good  deal 
of  sweet  grass  here  and  there,  with  sow-thistle  and 
anise ;  and  tlic  coarse  tussf^k  grass  would  be  in  full  seed 
shortly,  which  alone  would  keep  him  going  for  as  long 


20  Erewhon  Revisited 

a  time  as  my  fatlier  expected  to  be  away.  Little  did 
he  think  that  he  should  want  him  again  so  shortly. 

Having  attended  to  his  horse,  he  got  his  supper,  and 
while  smoking  his  pipe  congratulated  himself  on  the 
way  in  which  something  had  smoothed  away  all  the 
obstacles  that  had  so  nearly  baffled  him  on  his  earlier 
journey.  Was  he  being  lured  on  to  his  destruction  by 
some  malicious  fiend,  or  befriended  by  one  who  had 
compassion  on  him  and  wished  him  well?  His  natu- 
rally sanguine  temperament  inclined  him  to  adopt  the 
friendly  spirit  theory,  in  the  peace  of  which  he  again 
laid  himself  dow-n  to  rest,  and  slept  soundly  from  dark 
till  daw^n. 

In  the  morning,  though  the  water  was  somewhat  icy, 
he  again  bathed,  and  then  put  on  his  Erewhonian  boots 
and  dress.  He  stowed  his  European  clothes,  with  some 
difficulty,  into  his  saddle-bags.  Herein  also  he  left  his 
case  full  of  English  sovereigns,  his  spare  pipes,  his 
purse,  which  contained  two  pounds  in  gold  and  seven  or 
eight  shillings,  part  of  his  stock  of  tobacco,  and  what- 
ever provision  was  left  him,  except  the  meat — which 
he  left  for  sundry  hawks  and  parrots  that  were  eyeing 
his  proceedings  apparently  without  fear  of  man.  His 
nuggets  he  concealed  in  the  secret  pockets  of  which  I 
have  already  spoken,  keeping  one  bag  alone  acces- 
sible. 

He  had  had  his  hair  and  beard  cut  short  on  ship- 
board the  day  before  he  landed.  These  he  now  dyed 
with  a  dye  that  he  had  brought  from  England,  and 
which  in  a  few  minutes  turned  them  very  nearly  black. 
He  also  stained  his  face  and  hands  deep  brown.  He 
hung  his  saddle  and  bridle,  his  English  boots,  and  his 
saddle-bags  on  the  highest  bough  that  he  could  reach, 


To  the  Pass  21 

and  made  them  fairly  fast  with  strips  of  flax  leaf,  for 
the»e  was  some  stunted  flax  growing  on  the  ground 
where  he  had  camped.  He  feared  that,  do  what  he 
might,  they  would  not  escape  the  inquisitive  thievish- 
ness  of  the  parrots,  whose  strong  beaks  could  easily  cut 
leather ;  but  he  could  do  nothing  more.  It  occurs  to  me, 
though  my  father  never  told  me  so,  that  it  was  perhaps 
with  a  view  to  these  birds  that  he  had  chosen  to  put  his 
English  sovereigns  into  a  metal  box,  with  a  clasp  to 
it  which  would  defy  them.  , 

He  made  a  roll  of  his  blanket,  and  slung  it  over  his 
shoulder ;  he  also  took  his  pipe,  tobacco,  a  little  tea,  a 
few  ship's  biscuits,  and  his  billy  and  pannikin ;  matches 
and  salt  go  without  saying.  When  he  had  thus  ordered 
everything  as  nearly  to  his  satisfaction  as  he  could,  he 
looked  at  his  watch  for  the  last  time,  as  he  believed, 
till  many  weeks  should  have  gone  by,  and  found  it  to 
be  about  seven  o'clock.  Remembering  what  trouble  it 
had  got  him  into  years  before,  he  took  down  his  sad- 
dle-bags, reopened  them,  and  put  the  watch  inside.  He 
then  set  himself  to  climb  the  mountain  side,  towards 
the  saddle  on  which  he  had  seen  the  statues. 


CHAPTER  III 

MY    FATHER    WHILE    CAMPING    IS    ACCOSTED    BY 
PROFESSORS    HANKY   AND   PANKY 

My  father  found  the  ascent  more  fatiguing  than 
he  remembered  it  to  have  been.  The  climb,  he  said, 
was  steady,  and  took  him  between  four  and  five  hours, 
as  near  as  he  could  guess,  now  that  he  had  no  watch; 
but  it  offered  nothing  that  could  be  called  a  difficulty, 
and  the  watercourse  that  came  down  from  the  saddle 
was  a  sufficient  guide ;  once  or  twice  there  were  water- 
falls, but  they  did  not  seriously  delay  him. 

After  he  had  climbed  some  three  thousand  feet,  he 
began  to  be  on  the  alert  for  some  sound  of  ghostly 
chanting  from  the  statues ;  but  he  heard  nothing,  and 
toiled  on  till  he  came  to  a  sprinkling  of  fresh  snow — 
part  of  the  fall  which  he  had  observed  on  the  preceding 
day  as  having  whitened  the  higher  mountains ;  he  knew, 
therefore,  that  he  must  now  be  nearing  the  saddle.  The 
snow  grew  rapidly  deeper,  and  by  the  time  he  reached 
the  statues  the  ground  was  covered  to  a  depth  of  two 
cr  three  inches. 

He  found  the  statues  smaller  than  he  had  expected. 
He  had  said  in  his  book — written  many  months  after 
he  had  seen  them — that  they  were  about  six  times  the 
size  of  life,  but  he  now  thought  that  four  or  five  times 
would  have  been  enough  to  say.  Their  mouths  were 
much  clogged  with  snow,  so  that  even  though  there  had 

22 


Hanky  and  Panky  23 

been  a  strong  wind  (which  there  was  not)  they  would 
not  have  chanted.  In  other  respects  he  found  them  not 
less  mysteriously  impressive  tlian  at  first.  He  walked 
two  or  three  times  all  round  them,  and  then  went  on. 

The  snow  did  not  continue  far  down,  but  before 
long  my  father  entered  a  thick  bank  of  cloud,  and  had 
to  feel  his  way  cautiously  along  the  stream  that  de- 
scended from  the  pass.  It  was  some  two  hours  before 
he  emerged  into  clear  air,  and  found  himself  on  the 
level  bed  of  an  old  lake  now  grassed  over.  He  had 
quite  forgotten  this  feature  of  the  descent — perhaps  the 
clouds  had  hung  over  it ;  he  was  overjoyed,  however,  to 
find  that  the  flat  ground  abounded  with  a  kind  of  quail, 
larger  than  ours,  and  hardly,  if  at  all,  smaller  than  a 
partridge.  The  abundance  of  these  quails  surprised 
him,  for  he  did  not  remember  them  as  plentiful  any- 
where on  the  Ercwhonian  side  of  the  mountains. 

The  Erewhonian  quail,  like  its  now  nearly,  if  not 
quite,  extinct  New  Zealand  congener,  can  take  three 
successive  flights  of  a  few  yards  each,  but  then  be- 
comes exhausted;  hence  quails  are  only  found  on 
ground  that  is  never  burned,  and  where  there  are  no 
wild  animals  to  molest  them;  the  cats  and  dogs  that 
accompany  European  civilisation  soon  exterminate 
them;  my  father,  therefore,  felt  safe  in  concluding  that 
he  was  still  far  from  any  village.  Moreover,  he  could 
see  no  .sheep  or  goat's  dung;  and  this  surprised  him,  for 
he  thought  he  had  found  signs  of  pasturage  much 
higher  than  this.  Doubtless,  he  said  to  himself,  when 
he  wrote  his  book  he  had  forgotten  how  long  the  de- 
scent had  been.  But  it  was  odd,  for  the  grass  was  good 
feed  enough,  and  ought,  he  considered,  to  have  been 
well  stocked. 


24  Erewhon  Revisited 

Tired  with  his  climb,  during  which  he  had  not 
rested  to  take  food,  but  had  eaten  biscuits,  as  he 
walked,  he  gave  himself  a  good  long  rest,  and  when 
refreshed,  he  ran  down  a  couple  of  dozen  quails,  some 
of  which  he  meant  to  eat  when  he  camped  for  the  night, 
while  the  others  would  help  him  out  of  a  difficulty 
which  had  been  troubling  him  for  some  time. 

What  was  he  to  say  when  people  asked  him,  as  they 
were  sure  to  do,  how  he  was  living?  And  how  was  he 
to  get  enough  Erewhonian  money  to  keep  him  going 
till  he  could  find  some  safe  means  of  selling  a  few  of 
his  nuggets?  He  had  had  a  little  Erewhonian  money 
when  he  went  up  in  the  balloon,  but  had  thrown  it  over, 
wath  everj^thing  else  except  the  clothes  he  wore  and  his 
MSS.,  when  the  balloon  was  nearing  the  water.  He 
had  nothing  with  him  that  he  dared  offer  for  sale,  and 
though  he  had  plenty  of  gold,  was  in  reality  penniless. 

When,  therefore,  he  saw  the  quails,  he  again  felt  as 
though  some  friendly  spirit  was  smoothing  his  way 
l)efore  him.  What  more  easy  than  to  sell  them  at  Cold- 
harbour  (for  so  the  name  of  the  town  in  which  he  had 
been  imprisoned  should  be  translated),  where  he  knew 
they  were  a  delicacy,  and  would  fetch  him  the  value 
of  an  English  shilling  a  piece? 

It  took  him  between  two  and  three  hours  to  catch 
two  dozen.  When  he  had  thus  got  what  he  considered 
a  sufficient  stock,  he  tied  their  legs  together  with  rushes, 
and  ran  a  stout  stick  through  the  whole  lot.  Soon 
afterwards  he  came  upon  a  wood  of  stunted  pines, 
which,  though  there  was  not  much  undergrowth,  never- 
theless afforded  considerable  shelter  and  enabled  him  to 
gather  wood  enough  to  make  himself  a  good  fire.  This 
was  acceptable,  for  though  the  days  were  long,  it  was 


Hanky  and  Panky  25 

now  evening,  and  as  soon  as  the  sun  had  gone  the  air 
became  crisp  and  frosty. 

Here  he  resoked  to  pass  the  night.  He  chose  a  part 
where  the  trees  were  thickest,  ht  his  fire,  plucked  and 
cleaned  four  quails,  filled  his  billy  with  water  from  the 
stream  hard  by,  made  tea  in  his  pannikin,  grilled  two 
of  his  birds  on  the  embers,  ate  them,  and  when  he  had 
done  all  this,  he  lit  his  pipe  and  began  to  think  things 
over. 

"So  far  so  good,"  said  he  to  himself;  but  hardly 
had  the  words  passed  through  his  mind  before  he  was 
startled  by  the  sound  of  voices,  still  at  some  distance, 
but  evidently  drawing  towards  him. 

He  instantly  gathered  up  his  billy,  pannikin,  tea, 
biscuits,  and  blanket,  all  of  which  he  had  determined 
to  discard  and  hide  on  the  following  morning;  every- 
thing that  could  betray  him  he  carried  full  haste  into 
the  wood  some  few  yards  off,  in  the  direction  opposite 
to  that  from  which  the  voices  were  coming,  but  he  let 
his  (juails  lie  where  they  were,  and  put  his  pipe  and 
tobacco  in  his  pocket. 

The  voices  drew  nearer  and  nearer,  and  it  was  all 
my  father  could  do  to  get  back  and  sit  down  innocently 
by  his  fire,  before  he  could  hear  what  was  being  said. 

"Thank  goodness,"  said  one  of  the  speakers  (of 
course  in  the  Ercwhonian  language),  "we  seem  to  be 
finding  somebody  at  last.  T  hone  it  is  not  some 
poacher;  we  had  better  be  careful. 

"Nonsense!"  said  the  other.  "It  must  be  one  of  the 
rangers.  No  one  would  dare  to  light  a  fire  while  poach- 
ing on  the  King's  preserves.  What  o'clock  do  you 
make  it?" 

"Half  after  nine."     And  the  watch  was  still  in  the 


26  Erewhon  Revisited 

speaker's  hand  as  he  emerged  from  darkness  into  th« 
glowing  light  of  the  fire.  My  father  glanced  at  it, 
and  saw  that  it  was  exactly  like  the  one  he  had  worn  on 
entering  Erewhon  nearly  twenty  years  previously. 

The  watch,  however,  was  a  very  small  matter;  the 
dress  of  these  two  men  (for  there  w^ere  only  two)  was 
far  more  disconcerting.  They  were  not  in  the  Ere- 
whonian  costume.  The  one  was  dressed  like  an  Eng- 
lishman or  would-be  Englishman,  while  the  other  was 
wearing  the  same  kind  of  clothes  but  turned  the  wrong 
way  round,  so  that  when  his  face  was  towards  my 
father  his  body  seemed  to  have  its  back  towards  him, 
and  z^ice  versa.  The  man's  head,  in  fact,  appeared  to 
have  been  screwed  right  round;  and  yet  it  was  plain 
that  if  he  were  stripped  he  would  be  found  built  like 
other  people. 

What  could  it  all  mean  ?  The  men  were  about  fifty 
years  old.  They  were  well-to-do  people,  well  clad,  well 
fed,  and  were  felt  instinctively  by  my  father  to  belong 
to  the  academic  classes.  That  one  of  them  should  be 
dressed  like  a  sensible  Englishman  dismayed  my  father 
as  much  as  that  the  other  should  have  a  watch,  and 
look  as  if  he  had  just  broken  out  of  Bedlam,  or  as  King 
Dagobert  must  have  looked  if  he  had  worn  all  his 
clothes  as  he  is  said  to  have  worn  his  breeches.  Both 
wore  their  clothes  so  easily — for  he  who  wore  them 
reversed  had  evidently  been  measured  with  a  view  to 
this  absurd  fashion — that  it  was  plain  their  dress  was 
habitual. 

My  father  was  alarmed  as  well  as  astounded,  for  he 
saw  that  what  little  plan  of  a  campaign  he  had  formed 
must  be  reconstructed,  and  he  had  no  idea  in  what  di- 
rection his  next  move  should  be  taken;  but  he  was  a 


Hanky  and  Panky  27 

ready  man,  and  knew  that  when  people  have  taken  any 
idea  into  their  heads,  a  Httle  confirmation  will  fix  it. 
A  first  idea  is  like  a  strong  seedling;  it  will  grow  if 
it  can. 

In  less  time  than  it  will  have  taken  the  reader  to 
get  through  the  last  foregoing  paragraphs,  my  father 
took  up  the  cue  furnished  him  by  the  second  speaker. 

"Yes,"  said  he,  going  boldly  up  to  this  gentleman, 
"I  am  one  of  the  rangers,  and  it  is  my  duty  to  ask  you 
what  you  are  doing  here  upon  the  King's  preserves." 

"Quite  so,  my  man,"  was  the  rejoinder.  "We  have 
been  to  see  the  statues  at  the  head  of  the  pass,  and  have 
a  permit  from  the  Mayor  of  Sunch'ston  to  enter  upon 
the  preserves.  We  lost  ourselves  in  the  thick  fog,  both 
going  and  coming  back." 

My  father  inwardly  blessed  the  fog.  He  did  not 
catch  the  name  of  the  town,  but  presently  found  that 
it  was  commonly  pronounced  as  I  have  written  it. 

"Be  pleased  to  show  it  me,"  said  my  father  in  his 
politest  manner.  On  this  a  document  was  handed  to 
him. 

I  will  here  explain  that  I  shall  translate  the  names  of 
men  and  places,  as  well  as  the  substance  of  the  docu- 
ment ;  and  I  shall  translate  all  names  in  future.  In- 
deed I  have  just  done  so  in  the  case  of  Sunch'ston.  As 
an  example,  let  me  explain  that  the  true  Erewhonian 
names  for  Hanky  and  Panky,  to  whom  the  reader  will 
be  immediately  introduced,  are  Sukoh  and  Sukop — • 
names  too  cacophonous  to  be  read  with  pleasure  by  the 
English  public.  I  must  ask  the  reader  to  believe' 
that  in  all  cases  I  am  doing  my  best  to  give  the  .spirit 
of  the  original  name. 

I  would  also  express  my  regret  that  my  father  did 


28  Erewhon  Revisited 

not  either  uniformly  keep  to  the  true  Erewhonian 
names,  as  in  the  cases  of  Senoj,  Nosnibor,  Ydgrun, 
Thims,  &c. — names  which  occur  constantly  in  Ere- 
whon— or  else  invariably  invent  a  name,  as  he  did 
whenever  he  considered  the  true  name  impossible.  My 
poor  mother's  name,  for  example,  was  really  Nna 
Haras,  and  Mahaina's  Enaj  Ysteb,  which  he  dared 
not  face.  He,  therefore,  gave  these  characters  the 
first  names  that  euphony  suggested,  without  any  at- 
tempt at  translation.  Rightly  or  wrongly,  I  have  de- 
termined to  keep  consistently  to  translation  for  all 
names  not  used  in  my  father's  book;  and  throughout, 
whether  as  regards  names  or  conversations,  I  shall 
translate  with  the  freedom  without  which  no  transla- 
tion rises  above  construe  level. 

Let  us  now  return  to  the  permit.  The  earlier  part 
of  the  document  was  printed,  and  ran  as  follows : 

"Extracts  from  the  Act  for  the  afforesting  of  cer- 
tain lands  lying  between  the  town  of  Sunchildston,  for- 
merly called  Coldharbour,  and  the  mountains  which 
bound  the  kingdom  of  Erewhon,  passed  in  the  year 
Three,  being  the  eighth  year  of  the  reign  of  his  Most 
Gracious  Majesty  King  Well-beloved  the  Twenty- 
Second. 

"Whereas  it  is  expedient  to  prevent  any  of  his 
Majesty's  subjects  from  trying  to  cross  over  into  un- 
known lands  l)eyond  the  mountains,  and  in  the  manner 
to  protect  his  Majesty's  kingdom  from  intrusion  on  the 
part  of  foreign  devils,  it  is  hereby  enacted  that  certain 
lands,  more  particularly  described  hereafter,  shall  be 
afforested  and  set  apart  as  a  hunting-ground  for  his 
Majesty's  private  use. 


Hanky  and  Panky  29 

"It  is  also  enacted  that  the  Rangers  and  Under- 
rangers  shall  be  renuired  to  immediately  kill  without 
parley  any  foreign  devil  whom  they  may  encounter 
coming  from  the  other  side  of  the  mountains.  They 
are  to  weight  the  body,  and  throw  it  into  the  Blue  Pool 
under  the  waterfall  shown  on  the  plan  hereto  annexed ; 
but  on  pain  of  imprisonment  for  life  they  shall  not  re- 
serve to  their  own  use  any  article  belonging  to  the  de- 
ceased. Neither  shall  they  divulge  what  they  have  done 
to  any  one  save  the  Head  Ranger,  who  shall  report  the 
circumstances  of  the  case  fully  and  minutely  to  his 
Majesty. 

"As  regards  any  of  his  Majesty's  subjects  who  may 
be  taken  while  trespassing  on  his  Majesty's  preserves 
without  a  special  permit  signed  by  the  Mayor  of  Sun- 
childston,  or  any  who  may  be  convicted  of  poaching 
on  the  said  preserves,  the  Rangers  shall  forthwith  ar- 
rest them  and  bring  them  before  the  Mayor  of  Sun- 
childston,  who  shall  enquire  into  their  antecedents,  and 
punish  them  with  such  term  of  imprisonment,  with 
hard  labour,  as  he  may  think  fit,  provided  that  no  such 
term  be  of  less  duration  tha)    twelve  calendar  months. 

"For  the  further  provisions  of  the  said  Act,  those 
whom  it  may  concern  arc  referred  to  the  Act  in  full, 
a  copy  of  which  may  be  seen  at  the  official  residence  of 
the  Mayor  of  Sunchildston." 

Then  followed  in  MS.  "XIX.  xii.  29.  Permit  Pro- 
fessor Hanky,  Royal  Professor  of  Worldly  Wisdom,  at 
Bridge  ford,  seat  of  learning,  city  of  the  people  who 
are  above  suspicion,  and  Professor  Panky,  Royal  Pro- 
fessor of  Unworldly  Wisdom  in  the  said  city,  or  either 
of  them"  [here  the  MS.  ended,  the  rest  of  the  permit 
being  in  j)rint]    "to  pass   freely  during  the  space  of 


30  Erewhon  Revisited 

forty-eight  hours  from  the  date  hereof,  over  the  King's 
preserves,  provided,  under  pain  of  imprisonment  with 
hard  labour  for  twelve  months,  that  they  do  not  kill, 
nor  cause  to  be  killed,  nor  eat,  if  another  have  killed, 
any  one  or  more  of  his  Majesty's  quails," 

The  signature  was  such  a  scrawl  that  my  father 
could  not  read  it,  but  underneath  was  printed,  "Mayor 
of  Sunchildston,  formerly  called  Coldharbour." 

What  a  mass  of  information  did  not  my  father 
gather  as  he  read,  but  what  a  far  greater  mass  did  he 
not  see  that  he  must  get  hold  of  ere  he  could  recon- 
struct his  plans  intelligently. 

"The  year  three,"  indeed ;  and  XIX.  xii.  20,  in  Ro- 
man and  Arabic  characters !  There  were  no  such  char- 
acters when  he  was  in  Erewhon  before.  It  flashed 
upon  him  that  he  had  repeatedly  shewn  them  to  the 
Nosnibors,  and  had  once  even  written  them  down.  It 
could  not  be  that  .  .  .  No,  it  was  impossible ;  and  yet 
there  was  the  European  dress,  aimed  at  by  the  one  Pro- 
fessor, and  attained  by  the  other.  Again  "XIX."  what 
was  that?  "xii."  might  do  for  December,  but  it  was 
now  the  4th  of  December  not  tlie  29th.  "Afforested," 
too  ?  Then  that  was  why  he  had  seen  no  sheep  tracks. 
And  how  about  the  quails  he  had  so  innocently  killed  ? 
What  would  have  happened  if  he  had  tried  to  sell  them 
in  Coldharbour?  What  other  like  fatal  error  might  he 
not  ignorantly  commit?  And  why  had  Coldharbour 
become  Sunchildston? 

These  thoughts  raced  through  my  poor  father's 
brain  as  he  slowly  perused  the  paper  handed  to  him 
by  the  Professors.  To  give  himself  time  he  feigned  to 
be  a  poor  scholar,  but  when  he  had  delayed  as  long  as 


Hanky  and  Panky  31 

he  dared,  he  returned  it  to  the  one  who  had  given  it 
him.    Without  changing  a  muscle  he  said — 

"Your  permit,  sir,  is  quite  regular.  You  can  either 
stay  here  the  night  or  go  on  to  Sunchildston  as  you 
think  fit.  May  I  ask  which  of  you  two  gentlemen  is 
Professor  Hanky,  and  which  Professor  Panky?" 

"My  name  is  Panky,"  said  the  one  who  had  the 
watch,  who  wore  his  clothes  reversed,  and  who  had 
thought  my  father  might  be  a  poacher. 

"And  mine  Hanky,"  said  the  other. 

"What  do  you  think,  Panky,"  he  added,  turning  to 
his  brother  Professor,  "had  we  not  better  stay  here 
till  sunrise?  We  are  both  of  us  tired,  and  this  fellow 
can  make  us  a  good  fire.  It  is  very  dark,  and  there  will 
be  no  moon  this  two  hours.  We  are  hungry,  but  we 
can  hold  out  till  we  get  to  Sunchildston;  it  cannot  be 
more  than  eight  or  nine  miles  further  down." 

Panky  assented,  but  then,  turning  sharply  to  my 
father,  he  said,  "My  man,  what  are  you  doing  in  the 
forbidden  dress?  Why  are  you  not  in  ranger's  uni- 
form, and  what  is  the  meaning  of  all  those  quails?" 
For  his  seedling  idea  that  my  father  was  in  reality  a 
poacher  was  doing  its  best  to  grow. 

Quick  as  thought  my  father  answered,  "The  Head 
Ranger  sent  me  a  message  this  morning  to  deliver  him 
three  dozen  quails  at  Sunchildston  by  to-morrow  after- 
noon. As  for  the  dress,  we  can  run  the  quails  down 
quicker  in  it,  and  he  says  nothing  to  us  so  long  as  we 
only  wear  out  old  clothes  and  put  on  our  uniforms  be- 
fore we  near  the  town.  My  uniform  is  in  the  ranger's 
shelter  an  hour  and  a  half  higher  up  the  valley." 

"See  what  comes,"  said  Panky,  "of  having  a  whip- 
j)ersnapper  not  yet  twenty  years  old  in  the  responsible 


32  Erewhon  Revisited 

post  of  Head  Ranger.  As  for  this  fellow,  he  may  be 
speaking  the  truth,  but  I  distrust  him." 

"The  man  is  all  right,  Panky,"  said  Hanky,  "and 
seems  to  be  a  decent  fellow  enough."  Then  to  my 
father,  "How  many  brace  have  you  got?"  And  he 
looked  at  them  a  little  wistfully. 

"I  have  been  at  it  all  day,  sir,  and  I  have  only 
got  eight  brace.  I  must  run  down  ten  more  brace  to- 
morrow." 

"I  see,  I  see."  Then,  turning  to  Panky  he  said,  "Of 
course,  they  are  wanted  for  the  Mayor's  banquet  on 
Sunday.  By  the  way,  we  have  not  yet  received  our  in- 
vitation ;  I  suppose  we  shall  find  it  when  we  get  back 
to  Sunchildston." 

"Sunday,  Sunday,  Sunday!"  groaned  my  father  in- 
wardly ;  but  he  changed  not  a  muscle  of  his  face,  and 
said  stolidly  to  Professor  Hanky,  "I  think  you  must  be 
right,  sir;  but  there  was  nothing  said  about  it  to  me. 
I  was  only  told  to  bring  the  birds." 

Thus  tenderly  did  he  water  the  Professor's  second 
seedling.  But  Panky  had  his  seedling  too,  and  Cain- 
like, was  jealous  that  Hanky's  should  flourish  while  his 
own  was  withering. 

"And  what,  pray,  my  man,"  he  said  somewhat  per- 
emptorily to  my  father,  "are  those  two  plucked  quails 
doing?  Were  you  to  deliver  them  plucked?  And 
what  bird  did  those  bones  belong  to  which  I  see  lying 
by  the  fire  with  the  flesh  all  eaten  off  them?  Are  the 
under-rangers  allowed  not  only  to  wear  the  forbidden 
dress  but  to  eat  the  King's  quails  as  well?" 

The  form  in  which  the  question  was  asked  gave  my 
father  his  cue.  He  laughed  heartily,  and  said,  "Why, 
sir,  those  plucked  birds  are  landrails,  not  quails,  and 


Hanky  and  Panky  33 

those  bones  are  landrail  bones.  Look  at  this  thigh- 
bone ;  was  there  ever  a  quail  with  such  a  bone  as  that  ?" 

I  cannot  say  whether  or  no  Professor  Panky  was 
really  deceived  by  the  sweet  effrontery  with  which  my 
father  proff'ered  him  the  bone.  If  he  was  taken  in, 
his  answer  was  dictated  simply  by  a  donnish  unwil- 
lingness to  allow  any  one  to  be  better  informed  on  any 
subject  than  he  was  himself. 

My  father,  when  I  suggested  this  to  him,  would  not 
hear  of  it.  "Oh,  no,"  he  said;  "the  man  knew  well 
enough  that  I  was  lying."  However  this  may  be,  the 
Professor's  manner  changed. 

"You  are  right,"  he  said,  "I  thought  they  were 
landrail  bones,  but  was  not  sure  till  I  had  one  in  my 
hand.  I  see,  too,  that  the  plucked  birds  are  landrails, 
but  there  is  little  light,  and  I  have  not  often  seen  them 
without  their  feathers." 

"I  think,"  said  my  father  to  me,  "that  Hanky  knew 
what  his  friend  meant,  for  he  said,  Tanky,  I  am  very 
hungry.'  " 

"Oh,  Hanky,  Hanky,"  said  the  other,  modulating  his 
harsh  voice  till  it  was  quite  pleasant.  "Don't  corrupt 
the  poor  man." 

"Panky,  drop  that ;  we  are  not  at  Bridgeford  now ;  I 
am  very  hungry,  and  I  believe  half  those  birds  are  not 
quails  but  landrails." 

My  father  saw  he  was  safe.  He  said,  "Perhaps 
some  of  them  might  prove  to  be  so,  sir,  under  certain 
circumstances.    I  am  a  poor  man,  sir." 

"Come,  come,"  said  Hanky;  and  he  slipped  a  sum 
equal  to  about  half-a-crown  into  my  father's  hand. 

"I  do  not  know  what  you  mean,  sir,"  said  my  father, 


34  Erewhon  Revisited 

"and   if   I   did,   half-a-crown   would  not  be  nearly 
enough." 

"Hanky,"  said  Panky,  "you  must  get  this  fellow  to 
give  you  lessons." 


CHAPTER  IV 

MY  FATHER  OVERHEARS   MORE  OF   HANKY   AND 
PANKY's   CONVERSATION 

My  father,  schooled  under  adversity,  knew  that  it 
was  never  well  to  press  advantage  too  far.  He  took 
the  equivalent  of  five  shillings  for  three  brace,  which 
was  somewhat  less  than  the  birds  would  have  been 
worth  when  things  were  as  he  had  known  them.  More- 
over, he  consented  to  take  a  shilling's  worth  of  Musical 
Bank  money,  which  (as  he  has  explained  in  his  book) 
has  no  appreciable  value  outside  these  banks.  He  did 
this  because  he  knew  that  it  would  be  respectable  to 
be  seen  carrying  a  little  Musical  Bank  money,  and  also 
because  he  wished  to  give  some  of  it  to  the  British 
Museum,  where  he  knew  that  this  curious  coinage  was 
unrepresented.  But  the  coins  struck  him  as  being  much 
thinner  and  smaller  than  he  had  remembered  them. 

It  was  Panky,  not  Hanky,  who  had  given  him  the 
Musical  Bank  money.  Panky  was  the  greater  humbug 
of  the  two,  for  he  would  humbug  even  himself — a 
thing,  by  the  way,  not  very  hard  to  do ;  and  yet  he  was 
the  less  successful  humbug,  for  he  could  humbug  no 
one  who  was  worth  humbugging — not  for  long. 
Hanky's  occasional  frankness  put  people  off  their 
guard.  He  was  the  mere  common,  superficial,  perfunc- 
tory Professor,  who,  being  a  Professor,  would  of 
course  profess,  but  would  not  lie  more  than  was  in  the 

35 


36  Erewhon  Revisited 

bond ;  he  was  log-rolled  and  log-rolling,  but  still,  in  a 
robust  wolfish  fashion,  human. 

Panky,  on  the  other  hand  was  hardly  human;  he 
had  thrown  himself  so  earnestly  into  his  work,  that 
he  had  become  a  living  lie.  If  he  had  had  to  play  the 
part  of  Othello  he  would  have  blacked  himself  all  over 
and  very  likely  smothered  his  Desdemona  in  good 
earnest.  Hanky  would  hardly  have  blacked  himself 
behind  the  ears  and  his  Desdemona  would  have  been 
quite  safe. 

Philosophers  are  like  quails  in  the  respect  that  they 
can  take  two  or  three  flights  of  imagination  but  rarely 
more  without  an  interval  of  repose.  The  Professors 
had  imagined  my  father  to  be  a  poacher  and  a  ranger ; 
they  had  imagined  the  quails  to  be  wanted  for  Sun- 
day's banquet;  they  had  imagined  that  they  imagined 
(at  least  Panky  had)  that  they  were  about  to  eat 
landrails;  they  were  now  exhausted  and  cowered  down 
into  the  grass  of  their  ordinary  conversation  paying 
no  more  attention  to  my  father  than  if  he  had  been  a 
dog.  He,  poor  man,  drank  in  every  word  they  said, 
while  seemingly  intent  on  nothing  but  his  quails,  each 
one  of  which  he  cut  up  with  a  knife  borrowed  from 
Hanky.  Two  had  been  plucked  already,  so  he  laid 
these  at  once  upon  the  clear  embers. 

"I  do  not  know  what  we  are  to  do  with  ourselves," 
said  Hanky,  "till  Sunday.  To-day  is  Thursday — it 
is  the  twenty-ninth,  is  it  not?  Yes,  of  course  it  is — 
Sunday  is  the  first.  Besides,  it  is  on  our  permit.  To- 
morrow we  can  rest;  what,  I  wonder,  can  we  do  on 
Saturday?  But  the  others  will  be  here  then,  and  we 
can  tell  them  about  the  statues." 


The  Professors  Converse  37 

"Yes,  but  mind  you  do  not  blurt  out  anything  about 
the  landrails." 

"I  think  we  may  tell  Dr.  Downie." 

"Tell  nobody,"  said  Panky. 

Then  they  talked  about  the  statues,  concerning  which 
it  was  plain  that  nothing  was  known.  But  my  father 
soon  broke  in  upon  their  conversation  with  the  first  in- 
stalment of  quails,  which  a  few  minutes  had  sufficed 
to  cook. 

"What  a  delicious  bird  a  quail  is,"  said  Hanky. 

"Landrail,  Hanky,  landrail,"  said  the  other  re- 
proachfully. 

Having  finished  the  first  birds  in  a  very  few  minutes 
they  returned  to  the  statues. 

"Old  Mrs.  Nosnibor,"  said  Panky,  "says  the  Sun- 
child  told  her  they  were  symbolic  of  ten  tribes  who  had 
incurred  the  displeasure  of  the  sun,  his  father." 

I  make  no  comment  on  my  father's  feelings. 

"Of  the  sun !  his  fiddlesticks'  ends,"  retorted  Hanky. 
"He  never  called  the  sun  his  father.  P)esides,  from  all 
I  have  heard  alx)ut  him,  I  take  it  he  was  a  precious 
idiot." 

"O  Hanky,  Hanky !  you  will  wreck  the  whole  thing 
if  you  ever  allow  yourself  to  talk  in  that  way." 

"Vou  are  more  likely  to  wreck  it  yourself,  Panky,  by 
never  doing  .so.  People  like  iK'ing  deceived,  but  they 
like  also  to  have  an  inkling  of  their  own  deception,  and 
you  never  inkle  them." 

"The  Queen,"  said  Panky,  returning  to  the  statues, 
"sticks  to  it  that  .  .   ." 

"Here  comes  another  bird,"  interrupted  Hanky; 
"never  mind  about  the  (,)ucen." 


38  Erewhon  Revisited 

The  bird  was  soon  eaten,  whereon  Panky  again  took 
up  his  parable  about  the  Queen. 

"The  Queen  says  they  are  connected  with  the  cult 
of  the  ancient  Goddess  Kiss-me-quick." 

"What  if  they  are?  But  the  Queen  sees  Kiss-me- 
quick  in  everything.  Another  quail,  if  you  please,  Mr. 
Ranger." 

My  father  brought  up  another  bird  almost  directly. 
Silence  while  it  was  being  eaten. 

"Talking  of  the  Sunchild,"  said  Panky;  "did  you 
ever  see  him?" 

"Never  set  eyes  on  him,  and  hope  I  never  shall." 

And  so  on  till  the  last  bird  was  eaten. 

"Fellow,"  said  Panky,  "fetch  some  more  wood;  the 
fire  is  nearly  dead." 

"I  can  find  no  more,  sir,"  said  my  father,  who  was 
afraid  lest  some  genuine  ranger  might  be  attracted  by 
the  light,  and  was  determined  to  let  it  go  out  as  soon 
as  he  had  done  cooking. 

"Never  mind,"  said  Hanky,  "the  moon  will  be  up 
soon." 

"And  now,  Hanky,"  said  Panky,  "tell  me  what  you 
propose  to  say  on  Sunday.  I  suppose  you  have  pretty 
well  made  up  your  mind  about  it  by  this  time." 

"Pretty  nearly.  I  shall  keep  it  much  on  the  usual 
lines.  I  shall  dwell  upon  the  benighted  state  from 
which  the  Sunchild  rescued  us,  and  shall  show  how  the 
Musical  Banks,  by  at  once  taking  up  the  movement, 
have  been  the  blessed  means  of  its  now  almost  uni- 
versal success.  I  shall  talk  about  the  immortal  glory 
shed  upon  Sunch'ston  by  the  Sunchild's  residence  in 
the  prison,  and  wind  up  with  the  Sunchild  Evidence 
Society,  and  an  earnest  appeal  for  funds  to  endow  the 


The  Professors  Converse  39 

canonries  required  for  the  due  service  of  the  temple. 

"Temple!  What  temple?"  groaned  my  father  in- 
wardly. 

"And  what  are  you  going  to  do  about  the  four  black 
and  white  horses?" 

"Stick  to  them,  of  course — unless  I  make  them  six." 

"I  really  do  not  see  why  they  might  not  have  been 
horses." 

"I  dare  say  you  do  not,"  returned  the  other  drily, 
"but  they  were  black  and  white  storks,  and  you  know 
that  as  well  as  I  do.  Still,  they  have  caught  on,  and 
tliey  are  in  the  altar-piece,  prancing  and  curvetting 
magnificently,  so  I  shall  trot  them  out." 

"Altar-piece !  Altar-piece  i"  again  groaned  my  father 
inwardly. 

He  need  not  have  groaned,  for  when  he  came  to  see 
the  so-called  altar-piece  he  found  that  the  table  above 
which  it  was  placed  had  nothing  in  common  with 
the  altar  in  a  Christian  church.  It  was  a  mere  table, 
on  which  were  placed  two  bowls  full,  of  Musical  Bank 
coins;  two  cashiers,  who  sat  on  either  side  of  it,  dis- 
pensed a  few  of  these  to  all  comers,  while  there  was  a 
box  in  front  of  it  wherein  people  deposited  coin  of  the 
realm  according  to  their  will  or  ability.  The  idea  of 
sacrifice  was  not  contemplated,  and  the  position  of  the 
table,  as  well  as  the  name  given  to  it,  was  an  instance  of 
the  way  in  which  the  Krewhonians  had  caught  names 
and  practices  from  my  father,  without  understanding 
what  they  either  were  or  meant.  So,  again,  when 
Professor  Hanky  had  spoken  of  canonries,  he  had 
none  but  the  vaguest  idea  of  what  a  canonry  is. 

I  may  add  further  that  as  a  boy  my  father  had  had 
his  Bible  well  drilled  into  him,  and  never  forgot  it. 


40  Erewhon  Revisited 

Hence  biblical  passages  and  expression's  had  been  often 
in  his  mouth,  as  the  effect  of  mere  unconscious  cere- 
bration. The  Erewhonians  had  caught  many  of  these, 
sometimes  corrupting  them  so  that  they  were  hardly 
recognizable.  Things  that  he  remembered  having  said 
were  continually  meeting  him  during  the  few  days  of 
his  second  visit,  and  it  shocked  him  deeply  to  meet  some 
gross  travesty  of  his  own  words,  or  of  words  more 
sacred  than  his  own,  and  yet  to  be  unable  to  correct  it. 
"I  wonder,"  he  said  to  me,  "that  no  one  has  ever  hit 
on  this  as  a  punishment  for  the  damned  in_ Hades." 

Let  me  now  return  to  Professor  Hanky,  whom  I 
fear  that  I  have  left  too  long. 

"And  of  course,"  he  continued,  "I  shall  say  all 
sorts  of  pretty  things  about  the  Mayoress — for  I  sup- 
pose we  must  not  even  think  of  her  as  Yram  now." 

"The  Mayoress,"  replied  Panky,  "is  a  very  danger- 
ous woman ;  see  how  she  stood  out  about  the  way  in 
which  the  Sunchild  had  worn  his  clothes  before  they 
gave  him  the  then  Erewhonian  dress.  Besides,  she  is  a 
sceptic  at  heart,  and  so  is  that  precious  son  of  hers." 

"She  was  quite  right,"  said  Hanky,  with  something 
of  a  snort.  "She  brought  him  his  dinner  while  he  was 
still  wearing  the  clothes  he  came  in,  and  if  men  do  not 
notice  how  a  man  wears  his  clothes,  women  do.  Be- 
sides, there  are  many  living  who  saw  him  wear  them." 

"Perhaps,"  said  Panky,  "but  we  should  never  have 
talked  the  King  over  if  we  had  not  humoured  him  on 
this  point.  Yram  nearly  wrecked  us  by  her  obstinacy. 
If  we  had  not  frightened  her,  and  if  your  study, 
Hanky,  had  not  happened  to  have  been  burned  .  .  ." 

"Come,  come,  Panky,  no  more  of  that." 

"Of  course  I  do  not  doubt  that  it  was  an  accident; 


The  Professors  Converse  41 

nevertheless,  if  your  study  had  not  been  accidentally 
burned,  on  the  very  night  the  clothes  were  entrusted 
to  you  for  earnest,  patient,  careful,  scientific  investi- 
gation— and  Yram  very  nearly  burned  too — we  should 
never  have  carried  it  through.  See  what  work  we 
had  to  get  the  King  to  allow  the  way  in  which  the 
clothes  were  worn  to  be  a  matter  of  opinion,  not  dogma. 
What  a  pity  is  it  that  the  clothes  were  not  burned  be- 
fore the  King's  tailor  had  copied  them." 

Hanky  laughed  heartily  enough.  "Yes,"  he  said, 
"it  was  touch  and  go.  Why,  I  wonder,  could  not  the 
Queen  have  put  the  clothes  on  a  dummy  that  would 
show  back  from  front?  As  soon  as  it  was  brought  into 
the  council  chamber  the  King  jumped  to  a  conclusion, 
and  we  had  to  bundle  both  dummy  and  Yram  out  of 
the  royal  presence,  for  neither  she  nor  the  King  would 
budge  an  inch." 

Even  Panky  smiled.  "What  could  we  do?  The 
common  people  almost  worship  Yram;  and  so  does  her 
husband,  though  her  fair-haired  eldest  son  was  born 
barely  seven  months  after  marriage.  The  people  in 
these  parts  like  If)  think  that  the  Sunchild's  blood  is  in 
the  country,  and  yet  they  swear  through  thick  and 
think  that  he  is  tlie  Mayor's  duly  begotten  offspring — 
Faugh!  Do  you  think  they  would  have  stood  his  being 
jobbed  into  the  rangership  by  any  one  else  but  Yram?" 

My  father's  feelings  may  be  imagined,  but  I  will  not 
here  interrupt  the  Professors. 

"Well,  well,"  said  Hanky;  "for  men  must  rob  and 
women  must  jol)  so  long  as  the  world  goes  on.  I  did 
the  best  f  could.  The  King  would  never  have  embraced 
Sunchildisni  if  I  had  not  told  him  he  was  right;  then, 
when  satisfied  that  we  agreed  with  him,  he  yielded  to 


42  Erewhon  Revisited 

popular  prejudice  and  allowed  the  question  to  remain 
open.  One  of  his  Royal  Professors  was  to  wear  the 
clothes  one  way,  and  the  other  the  other." 

"My  way  of  wearing  them,"  said  Panky,  "is  much 
the  most  convenient." 

"Not  a  bit  of  it,"  said  Hanky  warmly.  On  this  the 
two  Professors  fell  out,  and  the  discussion  grew  so  hot 
that  my  father  interfered  by  advising  them  not  to 
talk  so  loud  lest  another  ranger  should  hear  them.  "You 
know,"  he  said,  "there  are  a  good  many  landrail  bones 
lying  about,  and  it  might  be  awkward." 

The  Professors  hushed  at  once.  "By  the  way,"  said 
Panky,  after  a  pause,  "it  is  very  strange  about  those 
footprints  in  the  snow.  The  man  had  evidently  walked 
round  the  statues  two  or  three  times  as  though  they 
were  strange  to  him,  and  he  had  certainly  come  from 
the  other  side." 

"It  was  one  of  the  rangers,"  said  Hanky  impa- 
tiently, "who  had  gone  a  little  beyond  the  statues,  and 
come  back  again." 

"Then  we  should  have  seen  his  footprints  as  he  went. 
I  am  glad  I  measured  them." 

"There  is  nothing  in  it ;  but  what  were  your  meas- 
urements ?" 

"Eleven  inches  by  four  and  a  half ;  nails  on  the  soles ; 
one  nail  missing  on  the  right  foot  and  two  on  the  left." 
Then,  turning  to  my  fatlier  quickly,  he  said  "My  man, 
allow  me  to  have  a  look  at  your  boots." 

"Nonsense,  Panky,  nonsense!" 

Now  my  father  by  this  time  was  wondering  whether 
he  should  not  set  upon  these  two  men,  kill  them  if  he 
could,  and  make  the  best  of  his  way  back,  but  he  had 
still  a  card  to  play. 


The  Professors  Converse  43 

"Certainly,  sir,"  said  he,  "but  I  should  tell  you  that 
they  are  not  my  boots." 

He  took  off  his  right  boot  and  handed  it  to  Panky. 

"Exactly  so!  Eleven  inches  by  four  and  a  half  and 
one  nail  missing.  And  now,  Mr.  Ranger,  will  you 
be  good  enough  to  explain  how  you  became  possessed 
of  that  boot.  You  need  not  show  me  the  other."  And 
he  spoke  like  an  examiner  who  was  confident  that  he 
could  floor  his  examinee  in  i/iz^d  voce. 

"You  know  our  orders,"  answered  my  father,  "you 
have  seen  them  on  your  permit.  I  met  one  of  those 
foreign  devils  from  the  other  side,  of  whom  we  have 
bad  more  than  one  lately;  he  came  from  out  of  the 
clouds  that  hang  higher  up,  and  as  he  had  no  pennit 
and  could  not  speak  a  word  of  our  language,  I  gripped 
him,  flung  him,  and  strangled  him.  Thus  far  I  was 
only  obeying  orders,  but  seeing  how  much  better  his 
boots  were  than  mine,  and  finding  that  they  would  fit 
me,  I  resolved  to  keep  them.  You  may  be  sure  I  should 
not  have  done  so  if  I  had  known  there  was  snow  on  the 
top  of  the  pass." 

"He  could  not  invent  that,"  said  Hanky;  "it  is  plain 
that  he  has  not  been  up  to  the  statues." 

Panky  was  staggered.  "And  of  course,"  said  he 
ironically,  "you  took  nothing  from  this  poor  wretch 
except  his  boots." 

"Sir,"  said  my  father,  "i  will  make  a  clean  breast 
of  everything.  I  flung  his  body,  his  clothes,  and  my  old 
boots  into  the  pool ;  but  I  kept  his  blankets,  some  things 
he  used  for  cooking  and  some  strange  stuff  that  looks 
like  dried  leaves,  as  well  .is  a  small  bag  of  something 
which  I  believe  is  gold.     T  thought  I  could  sell  the  lot 


44  Erewhon  Revisited 

to  some  dealer  in  curiosities  who  would  ask  no  ques- 
tions." 

"And  what,  pray,  have  you  done  with  all  these 
things?" 

"They  are  here,  sir."  And  as  he  spoke  he  dived 
into  the  wood,  returning  with  the  blanket,  billy,  panni- 
kin, tea  and  the  little  bag  of  nuggets  which  he  had 
kept  accessible. 

"This  is  very  strange"  said  Hanky,  who  was  begin- 
ning to  be  afraid  of  my  father  when  he  learned  that 
he  sometimes  killed  people. 

Here  the  Professors  talked  hurriedly  to  one  another 
in  a  tongue  which  my  father  could  not  understand,  but 
which  he  felt  sure  was  the  hypothetical  language  of 
which  he  has  spoken  in  his  book. 

Presently  Hanky  said  to  my  father  quite  civilly, 
"And  what,  my  good  man,  do  you  propose  to  do  with 
all  these  things?  I  should  tell  you  at  once  that  what 
you  take  to  be  gold  is  nothing  of  the  kind ;  it  is  a  base 
metal,  hardly,  if  at  all,  worth  more  than  copper." 

"I  have  had  enough  of  them;  to-morrow  morning  I 
shall  take  them  with  me  to  the  Blue  Pool,  and  drop 
them  into  it." 

"It  is  a  pity  you  should  do  that,"  said  Hanky  mu- 
singly :  "the  things  are  interesting  as  curiosities,  and — 
and — and — what  will  you  take  for  them?" 

"I  could  not  do  it,  sir,"  answered  my  father.     "I 

would  not  do  it,  no,  not  for "  and  he  named  a  sum 

equivalent  to  about  five  pounds  of  our  money.  For  he 
wanted  Erewhonian  money,  and  thought  it  worth  his 
while  to  sacrifice  his  ten  pounds'  worth  of  nuggets  in 
order  to  get  a  supply  of  current  coin. 

Hanky  tried  to  beat  him  down,  assuring  him  that  no 


The  Professors  Converse  45 

curiosity  dealer  would  give  half  as  much,  and  my  father 
so  far  yielded  as  to  take  £4,  los.  in  silver,  which,  as  I 
have  already  explained,  would  not  be  worth  more  than 
half  a  sovereign  in  gold.  At  this  figure  a  bargain  was 
struck,  and  the  Professors  paid  up  without  offering  him 
a  single  Musical  Bank  coin.  They  wanted  to  include 
the  boots  in  the  purchase,  but  here  my  father  stood  out. 

But  he  could  not  stand  out  as  regards  another  matter, 
which  caused  him  some  anxiety.  Panky  insisted  that 
my  father  should  give  them  a  receipt  for  the  money, 
and  there  was  an  altercation  between  the  Professors 
on  this  point,  much  longer  than  I  can  here  find  space  to 
give.  Hanky  argued  that  a  receipt  was  useless,  inas- 
much as  it  would  be  ruin  to  my  father  ever  to  refer 
to  the  subject  again.  Panky,  however,  was  anxious, 
not  lest  my  father  should  again  claim  the  money,  but 
(though  he  did  not  say  so  outright)  lest  Hanky  should 
claim  the  whole  purchase  as  his  own.  Tn  the  end 
Panky,  for  a  wonder,  carried  the  day,  and  a  receipt  was 
drawn  up  to  the  effect  that  the  undersigned  acknowl- 
edged to  have  received  from  Professors  Hanky  and 
Panky  the  sum  of  £4,  los.  (I  translate  the  amount),  as 
joint  purchasers  of  certain  pieces  of  yellow  ore,  a  blan- 
ket, and  sundry  articles  found  without  an  owner  in 
the  King's  preserves.  This  paper  was  dated,  as  the 
permit  had  been,  XTX.  xii.  29. 

My  father,  generally  sf)  ready,  was  at  his  wits'  end 
for  a  name,  and  could  think  nf  none  but  Mr.  Nosni- 
bor's.  Happily,  remembering  that  this  gentleman  had 
also  been  called  .Scnoj — a  name  comnifMi  enough  in 
Erewhon — he  signed  himself,  "Senoj,  Under-ranger." 

Panky  was  now  satisfied.  "We  will  put  it  in  the 
bag,"  he  said,  "with  the  pieces  of  yellow  ore." 


46  Erewhon  Revisited 

"Put  it  where  you  like,"  said  Hanky  contemptu- 
ously ;  and  into  the  bag  it  was  put. 

When  all  was  now  concluded,  my  father  laughingly 
said,  "If  you  have  dealt  unfairly  by  me,  I  forgive  you. 
My  motto  is,  'Forgive  us  our  trespasses,  as  we  forgive 
them  that  trespass  against  us.'  " 

"Repeat  those  last  words,"  said  Panky  eagerly.  My 
fatlier  was  alarmed  at  his  manner,  but  thought  it  safer 
to  repeat  them. 

"You  hear  that.  Hanky?  I  am  convinced;  I  have 
not  another  word  to  say.  The  man  is  a  true  Ere- 
whonian ;  he  has  our  corrupt  reading  of  the  Sunchild's 
prayer." 

"Please  explain." 

"Why,  can  you  not  see?"  said  Panky,  who  was  by 
way  of  being  great  at  conjectural  emendations.  "Can 
you  not  see  how  impossible  it  is  that  the  Sunchild,  or 
any  of  the  people  to  whom  he  declared  (as  we  now 
know  provisionally)  that  he  belonged,  could  have  made 
the  forgiveness  of  his  own  sins  depend  on  the  readiness 
with  which  he  forgave  other  people?  No  man  in  his 
senses  would  dream  of  such  a  thing.  It  would  be 
asking  a  supposed  all-powerful  being  not  to  forgive  his 
sins  at  all,  or  at  best  to  forgive  them  imperfectly.  No ; 
Yram  got  it  wrong.  She  mistook  'but  do  not'  for  'as 
we.'  The  sound  of  the  words  is  very  much  alike ;  the 
correct  reading  should  obviously  be,  'Forgive  us  our 
trespasses,  but  do  not  forgive  them  that  trespass  against 
us.'  This  makes  sense,  and  turns  an  impossible  prayer 
into  one  that  goes  straight  to  the  heart  of  every  one  of 
us."  Then,  turning  to  my  father,  he  said,  "You  can 
see  this,  my  man,  can  you  not,  as  soon  as  it  is  pointed 
out  to  you  ?" 


The  Professors  Converse  47 

My  father  said  that  he  saw  it  now,  but  had  always 
heard  the  words  as  he  had  himself  spoken  them. 

"Of  course  you  have,  my  good  fellow,  and  it  is  be- 
cause of  this  that  I  know  they  never  can  have  reached 
you  except  from  an  Erewhonian  source." 

Hanky  smiled,  snorted,  and  muttered  in  an  under- 
tone, "I  shall  begin  to  think  that  this  fellow  is  a  foreign 
devil  after  all." 

"And  now,  gentlemen,"  said  my  father,  "the  moon  is 
risen.  I  must  be  after  tlie  quails  at  daybreak;  I  will 
therefore  go  to  the  rangers'  shelter"  (a  shelter,  by  the 
way,  which  existed  only  in  my  father's  invention), 
"and  get  a  couple  of  hours'  sleep  so  as  to  be  both  close 
to  the  quail-ground  and  fresh  for  running.  You  are 
so  near  the  boundary  of  the  preserves  that  you  will  not 
want  your  permit  further;  no  one  will  meet  you  and 
should  any  one  do  so  you  need  only  give  your  names 
and  say  that  you  have  made  a  mistake.  You  will  have 
to  give  it  up  to-morrow  at  the  Ranger's  office ;  it  will 
save  you  trouble  if  I  collect  it  now  and  give  it  up  when 
I  dehver  my  quails. 

"As  regards  the  curiosities,  hide  them  as  you  best  can 
outside  the  limits.  I  recommend  you  to  carry  them  at 
once  out  of  the  forest  and  rest  beyond  the  Hmits  rather 
than  here.  You  can  then  recover  them  whenever  and 
in  whatever  way  you  may  find  convenient.  But  I  hope 
you  will  say  nothing  about  any  foreign  devil's  having 
come  over  on  to  this  side.  Any  whisper  to  this  effect 
unsettles  people's  minds,  and  they  arc  too  much  un.set- 
tled  already;  hence  our  orders  to  kill  any  one  from 
over  there  at  once  and  to  tell  no  one  but  the  Head 
Ranger.  I  was  forced  by  you,  gentlemen,  to  disobey 
these  orders  in  self-defence;  I  must  trust  your  gcner- 


48  Erewhon  Revisited 

osity  to  keep  what  I  have  told  you  secret.  I  shall  of 
course  report  it  to  the  Head  Ranger.  And  now  if  you 
think  proper  you  can  give  me  up  your  permit." 

All  this  was  so  plausible  that  the  Professors  gave 
up  their  permit  without  a  word  but  thanks.  They 
bundled  their  curiosities  hurriedly  into  "the  poor 
foreign  devil's"  blanket,  reserving  a  more  careful  pack- 
ing till  they  were  out  of  the  preserves.  They  wished 
my  father  a  very  good  night,  and  all  success  with  his 
quails  in  the  morning ;  they  thanked  him  again  for  the 
care  he  had  taken  of  them  in  the  matter  of  the  land- 
rails, and  Panky  even  went  so  far  as  to  give  him  a  few 
Musical  Bank  coins,  which  he  gratefully  accepted. 
They  then  started  off  in  the  direction  of  Sunch'ston. 

My  father  gathered  up  the  remaining  quails,  some 
of  which  he  meant  to  eat  in  the  morning,  while  the 
others  he  would  throw  away  as  soon  as  he  could  find  a 
safe  place.  He  turned  towards  the  mountains,  but  be- 
fore he  had  gone  a  dozen  yards  he  heard  a  voice,  which 
he  recognized  as  Panky's,  shouting  after  him,  and  say- 
ing— 

"Mind  you  do  not  forget  the  true  reading  of  the 
Sunchild's  prayer." 

"You  are  an  old  fool,"  shouted  my  father  in  English, 
knowing  that  he  could  hardly  be  heard,  still  less  under- 
stood, and  thankful  to  relieve  his  feelings. 


CHAPTER  V 

MY  FATHER  MEETS  A  SON^  OF  WHOSE  EXISTENCE  HE 
WAS  IGNORANT^  AND  STRIKES  A  BARGAIN  WITH 
HIM. 

The  incidents  recorded  in  the  last  two  chapters  had 
occupied  about  two  hours,  so  that  it  was  nearly  mid- 
night before  my  father  could  begin  to  retrace  his  steps 
and  make  towards  the  camp  that  he  had  left  that  morn- 
ing. This  was  necessan,-,  for  he  could  not  go  any  fur- 
ther in  a  costume  that  he  now  knew  to  be  forbidden. 
At  this  hour  no  ranger  was  likely  to  meet  him  before 
he  reached  the  statues,  and  by  making  a  push  for  it  he 
could  return  in  time  to  cross  the  limits  of  the  preserves 
before  the  Professors'  permit  had  expired.  If  chal- 
lenged, he  must  brazen  it  out  that  he  was  one  or  other 
of  the  persons  therein  named. 

Fatigued  though  he  was,  he  reached  the  statues,  as 
near  as  he  could  guess,  at  about  three  in  the  morning. 
What  little  wind  there  had  l^een  was  warm,  so  that 
the  tracks,  which  the  Professors  must  have  seen  shortly 
after  he  had  made  them,  had  disappeared.  The  statues 
looked  very  weird  in  the  moonlight,  but  they  were  not 
chanting. 

While  ascending  he  pieced  together  the  information 
he  had  picked  up  from  the  Professors.  Plainly,  the 
Sunchild,  or  child  of  the  sun,  was  none  other  than 
himself,  and  the  new  name  of  Coldharlx)ur  was  doubt- 

49 


50  Erewhon  Revisited 

less  intended  to  commemorate  the  fact  that  this  was 
the  first  town  he  had  reached  in  Erewhon.  Plainly, 
also,  he  was  supposed  to  be  of  superhuman  origin — 
his  flight  in  the  balloon  having  been  not  unnaturally  be- 
lieved to  be  miraculous.  The  Erewhonians  had  for 
centuries  been  effacing  all  knowledge  of  their  former 
culture;  archaeologists,  indeed,  could  still  glean  a  little 
from  museums,  and  from  volumes  hard  to  come  by,  and 
still  harder  to  understand ;  but  archaeologists  were  few, 
and  even  though  they  had  made  researches  (which  they 
may  or  may  not  have  done),  their  labours  had  never 
reached  the  masses.  What  wonder,  then,  that  the 
mushroom  spawn  of  myth,  ever  present  in  an  atmos- 
phere highly  charged  with  ignorance,  had  germinated 
in  a  soil  so  favourably  prepared  for  its  reception? 

He  saw  it  all  now.  It  was  twenty  years  next  Sunday 
since  he  and  my  mother  had  eloped.  That  was  the 
meaning  of  XIX.  xii.  29.  They  had  made  a  new  era, 
dating  from  the  day  of  his  return  to  the  palace  of  the 
sun  with  a  bride  who  was  doubtless  to  unite  the  Ere- 
whonian  nature  with  that  of  the  sun.  The  New  Year, 
then,  would  date  from  Sunday,  December  7  which 
would  therefore  become  XX.  i.  i.  The  Thursday,  now 
nearly  if  not  quite  over,  being  only  two  days  distant 
from  the  end  of  a  month  of  thirty-one  days,  which 
was  also  the  last  of  the  year,  would  be  XIX.  xii.  29,  as 
on  the  Professors'  permit. 

I  should  like  to  explain  here  what  will  appear  more 
clearly  on  a  later  page — I  mean,  that  the  Erewhonians, 
according  to  their  new  system,  do  not  believe  the  sun  to 
be  a  god  except  as  regards  this  world  and  his  other 
planets.  My  father  had  told  them  a  little  about  astron- 
omy, and  had  assured  them  that  all  the  fixed  stars  were 


Father  and  Son  51 

suns  like  our  own,  with  planets  revolving  round  them, 
which  were  probably  tenanted  by  intelligent  living  be- 
ings, however  unlike  they  might  be  to  ourselves.  From 
this  they  evolved  the  theory  that  the  sun  was  the  ruler 
of  this  platentary  system,  and  tliat  he  must  be  personi- 
fied, as  they  personified  the  air-god,  the  gods  of  time 
and  space,  hope,  justice,  and  the  other  deities  mentioned 
in  my  father's  book.  They  retain  their  old  belief  in  the 
actual  existence  of  these  gods  but  they  now  make  them 
all  subordinate  to  the  sun.  The  nearest  approach  they 
make  to  our  own  conception  of  God  is  to  say  that  He 
is  the  ruler  over  all  the  suns  throughout  the  universe — 
the  suns  being  to  Him  much  as  our  planets  and  their 
denizens  are  to  our  own  sun.  They  deny  that  He  takes 
more  interest  in  one  sun  and  its  system  than  in  another. 
All  the  suns  with  their  attendant  planets  are  supposed 
to  be  equally  His  children,  and  He  deputes  to  each  sun 
the  supervision  and  protection  of  its  own  system. 
Hence  they  say  that  though  we  may  pray  to  the  air- 
god,  &c.,  and  even  to  the  sun,  we  must  not  pray  to  God. 
We  may  be  thankful  to  Him  for  watching  over  the 
suns,  but  we  must  not  go  further. 

Going  back  to  my  father's  reflections,  he  perceived 
that  the  Erewhonians  had  not  only  adopted  our  calen- 
dar, as  he  had  repeatedly  explained  it  to  the  Nosnibors, 
but  had  taken  our  week  as  well,  and  were  making  Sun- 
day a  high  day,  just  as  we  do.  Next  vSunday,  in  com- 
memoration of  the  twentieth  year  after  his  ascent,  they 
were  about  to  dedicate  a  temple  to  him ;  in  this  there 
was  to  be  a  picture  showing  himself  and  his  earthly 
bride  on  their  heavenward  journey,  in  a  chariot  drawn 
by  four  black  and  white  horses — which,  however.  Pro- 


52  Erewhon  Revisited 

fessor  Hanky  had  positively  affirmed  to  have  been  only 
storks. 

Here  I  interrupted  my  father  .  "But  were  there,"  I 
said,  "any  storks?" 

"Yes,"  he  answered.  "As  soon  as  I  heard  Hanky's 
words  I  remembered  that  a  flight  of  some  four  or  five 
of  the  large  storks  so  common  in  Erewhon  during  the 
summer  months  had  been  wheeling  high  aloft  in  one  of 
those  aerial  dances  that  so  much  delight  them.  I  had 
quite  forgotten  it,  but  it  came  back  to  me  at  once  that 
these  creatures,  attracted  doubtless  by  what  they  took  to 
be  an  unknown  kind  of  bird,  swooped  down  towards 
the  balloon  and  circled  round  it  like  so  many  satellites 
to  a  heavenly  body.  I  was  fearful  lest  they  should 
strike  at  it  with  their  long  and  formidable  beaks,  in 
which  case  all  would  have  been  soon  over ;  either  they 
were  afraid,  or  they  had  satisfied  their  curiosity — at 
any  rate,  they  let  us  alone ;  but  they  kept  with  us  till  we 
were  well  away  from  the  capital.  Strange,  how  com- 
pletely this  incident  had  escaped  me." 

I  return  to  my  father's  thoughts  as  he  made  his  way 
back  to  his  old  camp. 

As  for  the  reversed  position  of  Professor  Panky's 
clothes,  he  remembered  having  given  his  own  old  ones 
to  the  Queen,  and  having  thought  that  she  might  have 
got  a  better  dummy  on  which  to  display  them  than  the 
headless  scarecrow,  which,  however,  he  supposed  was 
all  her  ladies-in-waiting  could  lay  their  hands  on  at  the 
moment.  If  that  dummy  had  never  been  replaced,  it 
was  perhaps  not  very  strange  that  the  King  could  not 
at  the  first  glance  tell  back  from  front,  and  if  he  did 
not  guess  right  at  first,  there  was  little  chance  of  his 


Father  and  Son  53 

changing,  for  his  first  ideas  were  apt  to  be  his  last.  But 
he  must  find  out  more  about  this. 

Then  how  about  the  watch  ?  Had  their  views  about 
machinery  also  changed?  Or  was  there  an  exception 
made  about  any  machine  that  he  had  himself  carried? 

Yram  too.  She  must  have  been  married  not  long 
after  she  and  he  had  parted.  So  she  was  now  wife  to 
the  Mayor,  and  was  evidently  able  to  have  things  pretty 
much  her  own  way  in  Sunch'ston,  as  he  supposed  he 
must  now  call  it.  Thank  heaven  she  was  prosperous! 
It  was  interesting  to  know  that  she  was  at  heart  a 
sceptic,  as  was  also  her  light-haired  son,  now  Head 
Ranger.  And  that  son?  Just  twenty  years  of  age! 
Born  seven  months  after  marriage!  Then  the  Mayor 
doubtless  had  light  hair  too;  but  why  did  not  those 
wretches  say  in  which  month  Yram  was  married?  H 
she  had  married  soon  after  he  had  left,  this  was  why 
he  had  not  been  sent  for  or  written  to.  Pray  heaven  it 
was  so.  As  for  current  gossip,  people  would  talk,  and 
if  the  lad  was  well  begotten,  what  could  it  matter  to 
them  whose  son  he  was?  "But,"  thought  my  father,  "I 
am  glad  I  did  not  meet  him  on  my  way  down.  I  had 
rather  have  been  killed  by  some  one  else." 

Hanky  and  Panky  again.  He  remembered  Bridge- 
ford  as  the  town  where  the  Colleges  of  Unreason  had 
been  most  rife;  he  had  visited  it,  but  he  had  forgotten 
that  it  was  called  "The  city  of  the  people  who  arc  above 
suspicion."  Its  Professors  were  evidently  going  to 
muster  in  great  force  on  Sunrlay;  if  two  of  them  had 
robbed  him,  he  could  forgive  them,  for  the  information 
he  had  gleaned  from  them  had  furnished  him  with  a 
pied  a  tcrrc.  Moreover,  he  had  got  as  much  Krewhon- 
ian  money  as  he  should  want,  for  he  had  resolved  to  re- 


54  Erewhon  Revisited 

trace  his  steps  immediately  after  seeing  the  temple  dedi- 
cated to  himself.  He  knew  the  danger  he  should  run 
in  returning  over  the  preserves  without  a  permit,  but 
his  curiosity  was  so  great  that  he  resolved  to  risk  it. 

Soon  after  he  had  passed  the  statues  he  began  to 
descend,  and  it  being  now  broad  day,  he  did  so  by 
leaps  and  bounds,  for  the  ground  was  not  precipitous. 
He  reached  his  old  camp  soon  after  five — this,  at  any 
rate,  was  the  hour  at  which  he  set  his  watch  on  finding 
that  it  had  run  down  during  his  absence.  There  was 
now  no  reason  why  he  should  not  take  it  with  him,  so 
he  put  it  in  his  pocket.  The  parrots  had  attacked  his 
saddle-bags,  saddle,  and  bridle,  as  they  were  sure  to  do, 
but  they  had  not  got  inside  the  bags.  He  took  out  his 
English  clothes  and  put  them  on — stowing  his  bags  of 
gold  in  various  pockets,  but  keeping  his  Erewhonian 
money  in  the  one  that  was  most  accessible.  He  put  his 
Erewhonian  dress  back  into  the  saddle-bags,  intending 
to  keep  it  as  a  curiosity;  he  also  refreshed  the  dye  upon 
his  hands,  face,  and  hair;  he  lit  himself  a  fire,  made 
tea,  cooked  and  ate  two  brace  of  quails,  which  he  had 
plucked  while  walking  so  as  to  save  time, and  then  flung 
himself  on  to  the  ground  to  snatch  an  hour's  very  neces- 
sary rest.  When  he  awoke  he  found  he  had  slept  two 
hours,  not  one,  which  was  perhaps  as  well,  and  by  eight 
he  began  to  reascend  the  pass. 

He  reached  the  statues  about  noon,  for  he  allowed 
himself  not  a  moment's  rest.  This  time  there  was  a 
stiffish  wind,  and  they  were  chanting  lustily.  He 
passed  them  with  all  speed,  and  had  nearly  reached  the 
place  where  he  had  caught  the  quails,  when  he  saw  a 
man  in  a  dress  which  he  guessed  at  once  to  be  a  ran- 
ger's, but  which,  strangely  enough,  seeing  that  he  was 


Father  and  Son  55 

in  the  Kng's  employ,  was  not  reversed.  My  father's 
heart  beat  fast ;  he  got  out  his  permit  and  held  it  open 
in  his  hand,  then  with  a  smiling  face  he  went  towards 
the  Ranger,  who  was  standing  his  ground. 

"I  believe  you  are  the  Head  Ranger,"  said  my  father, 
who  saw  that  he  was  still  smooth-faced  and  had  light 
hair.  "I  am  Professor  Panky,  and  here  is  my  pennit. 
My  brother  Professor  has  been  prevented  from  com- 
ing with  me,  and,  as  you  see,  I  am  alone." 

My  father  had  professed  to  pass  himself  off  as 
Panky,  for  he  had  rather  gathered  that  Hanky  was  the 
better  known  man  of  the  two. 

While  the  youth  was  scrutinising  the  permit,  evi- 
dently with  suspicion,  my  father  took  stock  of  him,  and 
saw  his  own  past  self  in  him  too  plainly — knowing  all 
he  knew — to  doubt  whose  son  he  was.  He  had  the 
greatest  difficulty  in  hiding  his  emotion,  for  the  lad  was 
indeed  one  of  whom  any  father  might  be  proud.  He 
longed  to  be  able  to  embrace  him  and  claim  him  for 
what  he  was,  but  this,  as  he  well  knew,  might  not  be. 
The  tears  again  welled  into  his  eyes  when  he  told  me 
of  the  struggle  with  himself  that  he  had  then  had. 

"Don't  be  jealous,  my  dearest  boy,"  he  said  to  me. 
"I  love  you  quite  as  dearly  as  I  love  him,  or  better,  but 
he  was  sprung  upon  me  so  suddenly,  and  dazzled  me 
with  his  comely  debonair  face,  so  full  of  youth,  and 
health,  and  frankness.  Did  you  see  him.  he  would  go 
straight  to  your  heart,  for  he  is  wonderfully  like  you  in 
spite  of  your  taking  so  nuich  after  your  poor  mother." 

I  was  not  jealous ;  on  the  contrary.  I  longed  to  sec 
this  youth,  and  find  in  him  such  a  brother  as  I  had  often 
wished  to  have.    But  let  me  return  to  my  father's  story. 

The  young  man,  after  examining  the  permit,  de- 


56  Erewhon  Revisited 

clared  it  to  be  in  form,  and  returned  it  to  my  father,  but 
he  eyed  him  with  polite  disfavour. 

"I  suppose,"  he  said,  "you  have  come  up,  as  so  many 
are  doing,  from  Bridge  ford  and  all  over  the  country,  to 
the  dedication  on  Sunday." 

"Yes,"  said  my  father.  "Bless  me!"  he  added, 
"what  a  wind  you  have  up  here!  How  it  makes  one's 
eyes  water,  to  be  sure" ;  but  he  spoke  with  a  cluck  in 
his  throat  which  no  wind  that  blows  can  cause. 

"Have  you  met  any  suspicious  characters  between 
here  and  the  statues  ?"  asked  the  youth.  "I  came  across 
the  ashes  of  a  fire  lower  down ;  there  had  been  three 
men  sitting  for  some  time  round  it,  and  they  had  all 
been  eating  quails.  Here  are  some  of  the  bones  and 
feathers,  which  I  shall  keep.  They  had  not  been  gone 
more  than  a  couple  of  hours,  for  the  ashes  were  still 
warm ;  they  are  getting  bolder  and  bolder — who  would 
have  thought  they  would  dare  to  light  a  fire?  I  sup- 
pose you  have  not  met  any  one ;  but  if  you  have  seen  a 
single  person,  let  me  know." 

My  father  said  quite  truly  that  he  had  met  no  one. 
He  then  laughingly  asked  how  the  youth  had  been  able 
to  discover  as  much  as  he  had. 

"There  were  three  well-marked  forms,  and  three 
separate  lots  of  quail  bones  hidden  in  the  ashes.  One 
man  had  done  all  the  plucking.  This  is  strange,  but  I 
dare  say  I  shall  get  at  it  later." 

After  a  little  further  conversation  the  Ranger  said 
he  was  now  going  down  to  Sunch'ston,  and,  though 
somewhat  curtly,  proposed  that  he  and  my  father 
should  walk  together. 

"By  all  means,"  answered  my  father. 

Before  they  had  gone  more  than  a  few  hundred  yards 


Father  and  Son  57 

his  companion  said,  "If  you  will  come  with  me  a  little 
to  the  left,  I  can  show  you  the  Blue  Pool." 

To  avoid  the  precipitous  ground  over  which  the 
stream  here  fell,  they  had  diverged  to  the  right,  where 
they  had  found  a  smoother  descentj  returning  now  to 
the  stream,  which  was  about  to  enter  on  a  level  stretch 
for  some  distance,  they  found  themselves  on  the  brink 
of  a  rocky  basin,  of  no  great  size,  but  very  blue,  and 
evidently  deep. 

"This,"  said  the  Ranger,  "is  where  our  orders  tell  us 
to  fling  any  foreign  devil  who  comes  over  from  the 
other  side.  I  have  only  been  Head  Ranger  about  nine 
months,  and  have  not  yet  had  to  face  this  horrid  duty ; 
but,"  and  here  he  smiled,  "when  I  first  caught  sight 
of  you  I  thought  I  should  have  to  make  a  beginning.  I 
was  very  glad  when  I  saw  you  had  a  permit." 

"And  how  many  skeletons  do  you  suppose  are  lying 
at  the  Ixjttom  of  this  pool?" 

"I  believe  not  more  than  seven  or  eight  in  all.  There 
were  three  or  four  about  eighteen  years  ago,  and  about 
the  same  number  of  late  years ;  one  man  was  flung  here 
only  about  three  months  before  I  was  appointed.  I 
have  the  full  list,  with  dates,  down  in  my  office,  but 
the  rangers  never  let  people  in  Sunch'ston  know  when 
they  have  Blue-Pooled  any  one;  it  would  unsettle 
men's  minds,  and  some  of  them  would  be  coming  up 
here  in  the  dark  to  drag  the  pool,  and  sec  whether  they 
could  find  anything  on  the  body." 

My  father  was  glad  to  turn  away  from  this  most  re- 
pulsive place.  After  a  time  he  said,  "And  what  do  you 
good  people  hereabouts  think  of  next  Sunday's  grand 
doings?" 

Bearing  in  mind  what  he  had  gleaned  from  the  Pro- 


58  Erewhon  Revisited 

fessors  about  the  Ranger's  opinions,  my  father  gave  a 
slightly  ironical  turn  to  his  pronunciation  of  the  words 
"grand  doings."  The  youth  glanced  at  him  with  a 
quick  penetrative  look,  and  laughed  as  he  said,  'The 
doings  will  be  grand  enough." 

"What  a  fine  temple  they  have  built,"  said  my  father. 
"I  have  not  yet  seen  the  picture,  but  they  say  the  four 
black  and  white  horses  are  magnificently  painted.  I 
saw  the  Sunchild  ascend,  but  I  saw  no  horses  in  the  sky, 
nor  anything  like  horses." 

The  youth  was  much  interested.  "Did  you  really  see 
him  ascend?"  he  asked ;  "and  what,  pray,  do  you  think 
it  all  was?" 

"Whatever  it  was,  there  were  no  horses." 

"But  there  must  have  been,  for,  as  you  of  course 
know,  they  have  lately  found  some  droppings  from  one 
of  them,  which  have  been  miraculously  preserved,  and 
they  are  going  to  show  them  next  Sunday  in  a  gold 
reliquary." 

"I  know,"  said  my  father,  who,  however,  was  learn- 
ing the  fact  for  the  first  time.  "I  have  not  yet  seen  this 
precious  relic,  but  I  think  they  might  have  found  some- 
thing less  unpleasant." 

"Perhaps  they  would  if  they  could,"  replied  the 
youth,  laughing,  "but  there  was  nothing  else  that  the 
horses  could  leave.  It  is  only  a  number  of  curiously 
rounded  stones,  and  not  at  all  like  what  they  say  it  is." 

"Well,  well,"  continued  my  father,  "but  relic  or  no 
relic,  there  are  many  who,  while  they  fully  recognise 
the  value  of  the  Sunchild's  teaching,  dislike  these  cock 
and  bull  stories  as  blasphemy  against  God's  most 
blessed  gift  of  reason.  There  are  many  in  Bridge  ford 
who  hate  this  story  of  the  horses." 


Father  and  Son  59 

The  youth  was  now  quite  reassured.  *'So  there  are 
here,  sir,"  he  said  warmly,  ''and  who  hate  the  Sunchild 
too.  If  there  is  such  a  hell  as  he  used  to  talk  about  to 
my  mother,  we  doubt  not  but  that  he  will  be  cast  into 
its  deepest  fires.  See  how  he  has  turned  us  all  upside 
down.  But  we  dare  not  say  what  we  think.  There  is 
no  courage  left  in  Erewhon." 

Then  waxing-  calmer  he  said,  "It  is  you  Bridgeford 
people  and  your  Musical  Banks  that  have  done  it  all. 
The  Musical  Bank  Managers  saw  that  the  people  were 
falling  away  from  them.  Finding  that  the  vulgar  be- 
lieved this  foreign  devil  Higgs — for  he  gave  this  name 

to  my  mother  when  he  was  in  prison — finding  that 

But  you  know  all  this  as  well  as  I  do.  How  can  you 
Bridgeford  Professors  pretend  to  believe  about  these 
horses,  and  about  the  Sunchild's  being  son  to  the  sun, 
when  all  the  time  you  know  there  is  no  truth  in  it?" 

"My  son — for  considering  the  difference  in  our  ages 
I  may  be  allowed  to  call  you  so — ^we  at  Bridgeford  are 
much  like  you  at  Sunch'ston ;  we  dare  not  always  say 
what  we  think.  Nor  would  it  be  wise  to  do  so,  when  we 
should  not  be  listened  to.  This  fire  must  burn  itself 
out,  for  it  has  got  such  hold  that  nothing  can  either  stay 
or  turn  it.  Even  though  Higgs  himself  were  to  return 
and  tell  it  from  the  house-tops  that  he  was  a  mortal — 
ay,  and  a  very  common  one — he  would  be  killed,  but 
not  believed." 

"Let  him  come;  let  him  show  himself,  speak  out  and 
die,  if  the  j)Cople  choose  to  kill  hiui.  Tn  that  case  I 
would  forgive  him,  accept  him  for  my  father,  as  silly 
people  sometimes  say  he  is,  and  honour  him  to  my 
dying  day." 

"Would  that  be  a  bargain?"  said  my  father,  smiling 


6o  Erewhon  Revisited 

in  spite  of  emotion  so  strong  that  he  could  hardly  bring 
the  words  out  of  his  mouth. 

"Yes,  it  would,"  said  the  youth  doggedly. 

"Then  let  me  shake  hands  with  you  on  his  behalf, 
and  let  us  change  the  conversation." 

He  took  my  father's  hand,  doubtfully  and  somewhat 
disdainfully,  but  he  did  not  refuse  it. 


CHAPTER  VI 

FURTHER    CONVERSATION    BETWEEN    FATHER   AND 
SON THE  professors'  HOARD 

It  is  one  thing  to  desire  a  conversation  to  be  changed, 
and  another  to  change  it.  After  some  little  silence  my 
father  said,  "And  may  I  ask  what  name  your  mother 
gave  you?" 

"My  name,"  he  answered,  laughing,  "is  George  and 
I  wish  it  were  some  other,  for  it  is  the  first  name  of 
tliat  arch-impostor  Higgs.  I  hate  it  as  I  hate  the  man 
who  owned  it." 

My  father  said  nothing  but  he  hid  his  face  in  his 
hands. 

"Sir,"  said  the  other,  "I  fear  you  are  in  some  dis- 
tress." 

"You  remind  me,"  repHed  my  father,  "of  a  son  wlio 
was  stolen  from  me  when  he  was  a  child.  I  searched 
for  him  during  many  years,  and  at  last  fell  in  with  him 
by  accident,  to  find  him  all  the  heart  of  father  could 
wish.  But  alas!  he  did  not  take  kindly  to  me  as  T  to 
him,  and  after  two  days  he  left  mc;  nor  shall  I  ever 
again  see  him." 

"Then,  sir,  had  I  not  better  leave  you?" 

"No,  stay  with  me  till  your  road  takes  you  else- 
where; for  though  I  cannot  sec  my  son,  you  are  so  like 
him  that  I  could  almost  fancy  he  is  with  me.  And 
now — for  I  shall  show  no  more  weakness — you  say 

(,i 


62  Erewhon  Revisited 

your  mother  knew  the  Siinchild,  as  I  am  used  to  call 
him.    Tell  me  what  kind  of  a  man  she  found  him." 

"She  liked  him  well  enough  in  spite  of  his  being  a 
little  silly.  She  does  not  believe  he  ever  called  himself 
child  of  the  sun.  He  used  to  say  he  had  a  father  in 
heaven  to  whom  he  prayed,  and  who  could  hear  him ; 
but  he  said  that  all  of  us,  my  mother  as  much  as  he, 
have  this  unseen  father.  My  mother  does  not  believe 
he  meant  doing  us  any  harm,  but  only  that  he  wanted 
to  get  himself  and  Mrs.  Nosnibor's  younger  daughter 
out  of  the  country.  As  for  there  having  been  anything 
supernatural  about  the  balloon,  she  will  have  none  of 
it ;  she  says  that  it  was  some  machine  which  he  knew 
how  to  make,  but  which  we  have  lost  the  art  of  making, 
as  we  have  of  many  another. 

"This  is  what  she  says  amongst  ourselves,  but  in 
public  she  confirms  all  that  the  Musical  Bank  Managers 
say  about  him.  She  is  afraid  of  them.  You  know,  per- 
haps, that  Professor  Hanky,  whose  name  I  see  on  your 
permit,  tried  to  burn  her  alive  ?" 

"Thank  heaven!"  thought  my  father,  "that  I  am 
Panky;"  but  aloud  he  said,  "Oh,  horrible!  horrible!  I 
cannot  believe  this  even  of  Hanky." 

"He  denies  it,  and  we  say  we  believe  him;  he  was 
most  kind  and  attentive  to  rray  mother  during  all  the 
rest  of  her  stay  in  Bridgeford.  He  and  she  parted  ex- 
cellent friends,  but  I  know  what  she  thinks.  I  shall  be 
sure  to  see  him  while  he  is  in  Sunch'ston,  I  shall  have 
to  be  civil  to  him  but  it  makes  me  sick  to  think  of  it." 

"When  shall  you  see  him?"  said  my  father,  who  was 
alarmed  at  learning  that  Hanky  and  the  Ranger  were 
likely  to  meet.  Who  could  tell  but  that  he  might  see 
Panky  too  ? 


Father  and  Son  Part  63 

"I  have  been  away  from  home  a  fortnight,  and  shall 
shall  not  be  back  till  late  on  Saturday  night.  I  do  not 
suppose  I  shall  see  him  before  Sunday.'' 

"That  will  do,"  thought  my  father,  who  at  that  mo- 
ment deemed  that  nothing  would  matter  to  him  much 
when  Sunday  was  over.  Then,  turning  to  the  Ranger, 
he  said,  *T  gather,  then,  that  your  mother  does  not  think 
so  badly  of  the  Sunchild  after  all?" 

"She  laughs  at  him  sometimes,  but  if  any  of  us  boys 
and  girls  say  a  word  against  him  we  get  snapped  up 
directly.  My  mother  turns  every  one  round  her  fin- 
ger. Her  word  is  law  in  Sunch'ston ;  every  one  obeys 
her;  she  has  faced  more  than  one  mob,  and  quelled 
them  when  my  father  could  not  do  so." 

'T  can  believe  all  you  say  of  her.  What  other  chil- 
dren has  she  besides  yourself?" 

"We  are  four  sons,  of  whom  the  youngest  is  now 
fourteen,  and  three  daughters." 

"May  all  health  and  happiness  attend  her  and  you, 
and  all  of  you,  henceforth  and  forever,"  and  my  father 
involuntarily  bared  his  head  as  he  spoke. 

"Sir,"  said  the  youth,  impressed  by  the  fervency  of 
my  father's  manner,  "I  thank  you,  but  you  do  not  talk 
as  Bridgcford  Professors  generally  do,  so  far  as  I  have 
seen  or  heard  them.  Why  do  you  wish  us  all  well  so 
very  heartily?  Is  it  because  you  think  I  am  like  your 
son,  or  is  there  some  other  reason  ?" 

"It  is  not  my  son  alone  that  you  resemble,"  said  my 
father  tremulously,  for  he  knew  he  was  going  too  far. 
He  carried  it  by  adding,  "You  resemble  all  who  love 
truth  and  hate  lies,  as  I  do." 

"Then,  sir,"  said  the  youth  gravely,  "you  much  belie 
your  reputation.     And  now  I  must  leave  you  for  an- 


64  Erewhon  Revisited 

other  part  of  the  preserves,  where  I  think  it  hkely  that 
last  night's  poachers  may  now  be,  and  where  I  shall 
pass  the  night  in  watching  for  them.  You  may  want 
your  permit  for  a  few  miles  further,  so  I  will  not  take 
it.  Neither  need  you  give  it  up  at  Sunch'ston.  It  is 
dated,  and  will  be  useless  after  this  evening." 

With  this  he  strode  off  into  the  forest,  bowing  po- 
litely but  somewhat  coldly,  and  without  encouraging 
my  father's  half  proffered  hand. 

My  father  turned  sad  and  unsatisfied  away. 

"It  serves  me  right,"  he  said  to  himself;  "he  ought 
never  to  have  been  my  son;  and  yet,  if  such  men  can 
be  brought  by  hook  or  by  crook  into  the  world,  surely 
the  world  should  not  ask  questions  about  the  bringing. 
How  cheerless  everything  looks  now  that  he  has  left 
me. 


By  this  time  it  was  three  o'clock,  and  in  another  few 
minutes  my  father  came  upon  the  ashes  of  the  fire  be- 
side which  he  and  the  Professors  had  supped  on  the 
preceding  evening.  It  was  only  some  eighteen  hours 
since  they  had  come  upon  him,  and  yet  what  an  age  it 
seemed!  It  was  well  the  Ranger  had  left  him,  for 
though  my  father,  of  course,  would  have  known  noth- 
ing about  either  fire  or  poachers,  it  might  have  led  to 
further  falsehood,  and  by  this  time  he  had  become  ex- 
hausted— not  to  say,  for  the  time  being,  sick  of  lies 
altogether. 

He  trudged  slowly  on,  without  meeting  a  soul,  until 
he  came  upon  some  stones  that  evidently  marked  the 
limits  of  the  preserves.  When  he  had  got  a  mile  or  so 
beyond  these,  he  struck  a  narrow  and  not  much  fre- 
quented  path,   which   he  was   sure   would   lead  him 


The  Professors'  Hoard  65 

towards  Sunch'ston,  and  soon  afterwards,  seeing  a 
huge  old  chestnut  tree  some  thirty  or  forty  yards  from 
the  path  itself,  he  made  towards  it  and  flung  himself  on 
the  ground  beneath  its  branches.  There  were  abundant 
signs  that  he  was  nearing  farm  lands  and  homesteads, 
but  there  was  no  one  about,  and  if  any  one  saw  him 
there  was  nothing  in  his  appearance  to  arouse  suspicion. 

He  determined,  therefore,  to  rest  here  till  hunger 
should  wake  him,  and  drive  him  into  Sunch'ston, 
which,  however,  he  did  not  wish  to  reach  till  dusk  if  he 
could  help  it.  He  meant  to  buy  a  valise  and  a  few 
toilette  necessaries  before  the  shops  should  close,  and 
then  engage  a  bedroom  at  the  least  frequented  inn  he 
could  find  that  looked  fairly  clean  and  comfortable. 

He  slept  till  nearly  six,  and  on  waking  gathered  his 
thoughts  together.  He  could  not  shake  his  newly 
found  son  from  out  of  them,  but  there  was  no  good  in 
dwelling  upon  him  now,  and  he  turned  his  thoughts  to 
the  Professors.  How,  he  wondered,  were  they  getting 
on,  and  what  had  they  done  with  the  things  they  had 
bought  from  him? 

"How  delightful  it  would  be,"  he  said  to  himself,  "if 
I  could  find  where  they  have  hidden  their  hoard,  and 
hide  it  somewhere  else." 

He  tried  to  project  his  mind  into  those  of  the  Pro- 
fessors, as  though  they  were  a  team  of  straying  bullocks 
whose  probable  acticju  he  must  determine  before  he  .set 
out  to  look  for  them. 

On  reflection,  he  concluded  that  the  hidden  property 
was  not  likely  to  be  far  from  the  spot  on  which  lie  now 
was.  The  Professors  would  wait  till  they  had  got 
some  way  down  towards  Sunch'ston,  so  as  to  have 
readier  access  to  their  property  when  they  wanted  to 


66  Erewhon  Revisited 

remove  it ;  but  when  they  came  upon  a  path  and  other 
signs  that  inhabited  dwelHngs  could  not  be  far  distant, 
they  would  begin  to  look  out  for  a  hiding-place.  And 
they  would  take  pretty  well  the  first  that  came.  "Why, 
bless  my  heart,"  he  exclaimed,  "this  tree  is  hollow;  I 

wonder  whether "  and  on  looking  up  he  saw  an 

innocent  little  strip  of  the  very  tough  fibrous  leaf  com- 
monly used  while  green  as  string,  or  even  rope,  by  the 
Erewhonians.  The  plant  that  makes  this  leaf  is  so  like 
the  ubiquitous  New  Zealand  Phormium  tenajr,  or  flax, 
as  it  is  there  called,  that  I  shall  speak  of  it  as  flax  in 
future,  as  indeed  I  have  already  done  without  explana- 
tion on  an  earlier  page;  for  this  plant  grows  on  both 
sides  of  the  great  range.  The  piece  of  flax,  then,  which 
my  father  caught  sight  of  was  fastened,  at  no  great 
height  from  the  ground,  round  the  branch  of  a  strong 
sucker  that  had  grown  from  the  roots  of  the  chestnut 
tree,  and  going  thence  for  a  couple  of  feet  or  so  towards 
the  place  where  the  parent  tree  became  hollow,  it  dis- 
appeared into  the  cavity  below.  My  father  had  little 
difficulty  in  swarming  the  sucker  till  he  reached  the 
bough  on  to  which  the  flax  was  tied,  and  soon  found 
himself  hauling  up  something  from  the  bottom  of  the 
tree.  In  less  time  than  it  takes  to  tell  the  tale  he  saw 
his  own  familiar  red  blanket  begin  to  show  above  the 
broken  edge  of  the  hollow,  and  in  another  second  there 
was  a  clinkum-clankum  as  the  bundle  fell  upon  the 
ground.  This  was  caused  by  the  billy  and  the  pannikin, 
which  were  wrapped  inside  the  blanket.  As  for  the 
blanket,  it  had  been  tied  tightly  at  both  ends,  as  well  as 
at  several  points  between,  and  my  father  inwardly  com- 
plimented the  Professors  on  the  neatness  with  which 
they  had  packed  and  hidden  their  purchase.   "But,"  he 


The  Professors'  Hoard  67 

said  to  himself  with  a  laugh,  "T  think  one  of  them  must 
have  got  on  the  other's  back  to  reach  that  bough." 

"Of  course,"  thought  he,  "they  will  have  taken  the 
nuggets  with  them."  And  yet  he  had  seemed  to  hear 
a  dumping  as  well  as  a  clinkum-clankum.  He  undid 
the  blanket,  carefully  untying  every  knot  and  keeping 
the  flax.  When  he  had  unrolled  it,  he  found  to  his  very 
pleasurable  surprise  that  the  pannikin  was  inside  the 
billy,  and  the  nuggets  with  the  receipt  inside  the  panni- 
kin. The  paper  containing  the  tea  having  been  torn, 
was  wrapped  up  in  a  handkerchief  marked  with 
Hanky's  name. 

"Down,  conscience,  down !"  he  exclaimed  as  he 
transferred  the  nuggets,  receipt,  and  handkerchief  to 
his  own  pocket.  "Eye  of  my  soul  that  you  are!  if  you 
offend  me  I  must  pluck  you  out."  His  conscience 
feared  him  and  said  nothing.  As  for  the  tea  he  left  it 
in  its  torn  paper. 

He  then  put  the  billy,  pannikin,  and  tea  back  again 
inside  the  blanket,  which  he  tied  neatly  up,  tie  for  tie 
with  the  Professor's  own  flax,  leaving  no  sign  of  any 
disturbance.  He  again  swarmed  the  sucker,  till  ho 
reached  the  bough  to  which  the  blanket  and  its  contents 
had  been  made  fast,  and  having  attached  the  bundle,  he 
dropped  it  back  into  the  hollow  of  the  tree.  He  did 
everything  quite  leisurely,  for  the  Professors  would  be 
sure  to  wait  till  nightfall  before  coming  to  fetch  their 
property  away. 

"li  I  take  nothing  but  the  nuggets,"  he  argued,  "each 
of  the  Professors  will  suspect  the  other  of  having  con- 
jured them  into  his  own  pocket  while  the  bundle  was 
being  made  up.  As  for  the  handkerchief,  they  must 
think  what  they  like;  but  it  will  puzzle  Hanky  to  know 


68  Erewhon  Revisited 

why  Panky  should  have  been  so  anxious  for  a  receipt, 
if  he  meant  steaHng  the  nuggets.  Let  them  muddle  it 
out  their  own  way." 

Reflecting  further,  he  concluded,  perhaps  rightly, 
that  they  had  left  the  nuggets  where  he  had  found 
them,  because  neither  could  trust  the  other  not  to  filch 
a  few,  if  he  had  them  in  his  own  possession,  and  they 
could  not  make  a  nice  division  without  a  pair  of  scales. 
"At  any  rate,"  he  said  to  himself,  "there  will  be  a  pretty 
quarrel  when  they  find  them  gone." 

Thus  charitably  did  he  brood  over  things  that  were 
not  to  happen.  The  discovery  of  the  Professors'  hoard 
had  refreshed  him  almost  as  much  as  his  sleep  had 
done,  and  it  being  now  past  seven,  he  lit  his  pipe — 
which,  however,  he  smoked  as  furtively  as  he  had  done 
when  he  was  a  boy  at  school,  for  he  knew  not  whether 
smoking  had  yet  Joecome  an  Erewhonian  virtue  or  no 
— and  walked  briskly  on  towards  Sunch'ston. 


CHAPTER  VII 

signs  of  the  new  order  of  things  catch  my 
father's  eye  on  every  side 

He  had  not  gone  far  before  a  turn  in  the  path — now 
rapidly  widening — showed  him  two  high  towers, 
seemingly  some  two  miles  off;  these  he  felt  sure  must 
be  at  Sunch'ston,  he  therefore  stepped  out,  lest  he 
should  find  the  shops  shut  before  he  got  there. 

On  his  former  visit  he  had  seen  little  of  the  town, 
for  he  was  in  prison  during  his  whole  stay.  He  had 
had  a  glimpse  of  it  on  being  brought  there  by  the  peo- 
ple of  the  village  where  he  had  spent  his  first  night  in 
Erewhon — a  village  which  he  had  seen  at  some  little 
distance  on  his  right  hand,  but  which  it  would  have 
been  out  of  his  way  to  visit,  even  if  he  had  wished  to 
do  so;  and  he  had  seen  the  Museum  of  old  machines, 
but  on  leaving  the  prison  he  had  been  blindfolded. 
Nevertheless  he  felt  sure  that  if  the  towers  had  been 
there  he  should  have  seen  them,  and  rightly  guessed 
that  they  must  belong  to  the  temple  which  was  to  be 
dedicated  to  himself  on  Sunday. 

When  he  had  passed  through  the  suburbs  he  found 
himself  in  the  main  street.  Space  will  not  allow  me  to 
dwell  on  more  than  a  few  of  the  things  which  caught 
his  eye,  and  assured  him  that  the  change  in  Erewhon- 
ian  ha1)its  and  opinions  had  been  even  more  cataclys- 
mic than  he  had  already  divined.    The  first  important 

69 


70  Erewhon  Revisited 

building  that  he  came  to  proclaimed  itself  as  the  Col- 
lege of  Spiritual  Athletics,  and  in  the  window  of  a 
shop  that  was  evidently  affiliated  to  the  college  he  saw 
an  announcement  that  moral  try-your-strengths,  suit- 
able for  every  kind  of  ordinary  temptation,  would  be 
provided  on  the  shortest  notice.  Some  of  those  that 
aimed  at  the  more  common  kinds  of  temptation  were 
kept  in  stock,  but  these  consisted  chiefly  of  trials  to  the 
temper.  On  dropping,  for  example,  a  penny  into  a 
slot,  you  could  have  a  jet  of  fine  pepper,  flour,  or  brick- 
dust,  whichever  you  might  prefer,  thrown  on  to  your 
face,  and  thus  discover  whether  your  composure  stood 
in  need  of  further  development  or  no.  My  father 
gathered  this  from  the  writing  that  was  pasted  on  to 
the  try-your-strength,  but  he  had  no  time  to  go  inside 
the  shop  and  test  either  the  machine  or  his  own  tem- 
per. (Dther  temptations  to  irritability  required  the 
agency  of  living  people,  or  at  any  rate  living  beings. 
Crying  children,  screaming  parrots,  a  spiteful  monkey, 
might  be  hired  on  ridiculously  easy  terms.  He  saw 
one  advertisement,  nicely  framed,  which  ran  as  fol- 
lows: 

"Mrs.  Tantrums,  Nagger,  certificated  by  the  College  of 
Spiritual  Athletics.  Terms  for  ordinary  nagging,  two 
shillings  and  sixpence  per   hour.     Hysterics  extra." 

Then  followed  a  series  of  testimonials — for  ex- 
ample : — 

"Dear  Mrs.  Tantrums, — I  have  for  years  been  tortured 
with  a  husband  of  unusually  peevish,  irritable  temper,  who 
made  my  life  so  intolerable  that  I  sometimes  answered 
him  in  a  way  that  led  to  his  using  personal  violence 
towards  me.  After  taking  a  course  of  twelve  sittings  from 
you,   I   found  my  husband's  temper  comparatively  angelic, 


The  New  Order  71 

and  we  have  ever  since  lived  together  in  complete  har- 
mony." 

Another  was  from  a  husband : — 

"Mr.  presents  his  compliments  to  Mrs.  Tantrums, 

and  begs  to  assure  her  that  her  extra  special  hysterics 
have  so  far  surpassed  anything  his  wife  can  do,  as  to 
render  him  callous  to  those  attacks  which  he  had  formerly 
found  so  distressing." 

There  were  many  others  of  a  like  purport,  but  time 
did  not  permit  my  father  to  do  more  than  glance  at 
them.  He  contented  himself  with  the  two  following, 
of  which  the  first  ran  : — 

"He  did  try  it  at  last.  A  little  correction  of  the  right 
kind  taken  at  the  right  moment  is  invaluable.  No  more 
swearing.  No  more  bad  language  of  any  kind.  A  lamb- 
like temper  ensured  in  about  twenty  minutes,  by  a  single 
dose  of  one  of  our  spiritual  indigestion  tabloids.  In  cases 
of  all  the  more  ordinary  moral  ailments,  from  simple  lying, 
to  homicidal  mania,  in  cases  again  of  tendency  to  hatred, 
malice,  and  uncharitableness;  of  atrophy  or  hypertrophy 
of  the  conscience,  of  costiveness  or  diarrhoea  of  the  sym- 
pathetic instincts,  &c.,  &c.,  our  spiritual  indigestion  tabloids 
will  afford  unfailing  and  immediate  relief. 

"N.  B. — A  bottle  or  two  of  our  Sunchild  Cordial  will 
assist  the  operation  of  the  tabloids." 

The  second  and  last  that  I  can  give  was  as  fol- 
lows : — 

"All  else  is  u.seless.  If  you  wish  to  be  a  social  success, 
make  yourself  a  good  listener.  There  is  no  short  cut  to 
this.  A  would-be  listener  must  learn  the  rudiments  of  his 
art  and  go  through  the  mill  like  other  people.  If  he  would 
develop  a  power  of  suffering  fools  glarlly,  he  must  begin  by 
suffering  them  without  the  gladness.  Professor  Proser, 
ex-straightener,  certificated  bore,  pragmatic  or  coruscating, 


72  Erewhon  Revisited 

with    or    without    anecdotes,    attends   pupils    at   their   own 
houses.     Terms    moderate. 

"Mrs.  Proser,  whose  success  as  a  professional  mind- 
dresser  is  so  well  known  that  lengthened  advertisement  is 
unnecessary,  prepares  ladies  or  gentlemen  with  appropriate 
remarks  to  be  made  at  dinner-parties  or  at-homes.  Mrs.  P. 
keeps  herself  well  up  to  date  with  all  the  latest  scandals." 

"Poor,  poor,  straighteners !"  said  my  father  to  him- 
self. "Alas !  that  it  should  have  been  my  fate  to  ruin 
you — for  I  suppose  your  occupation  is  gone." 

Tearing  himself  away  from  the  College  of  Spiritual 
Athletics  and  its  affiliated  shop,  he  passed  on  a  few 
doors,  only  to  find  himself  looking  in  at  what  was 
neither  more  nor  less  than  a  chemist's  shop.  In  the 
window  there  were  advertisements  which  showed  that 
the  practice  of  medicine  was  now  legal,  but  my  father 
could  not  stay  to  copy  a  single  one  of  the  fantastic  an- 
nouncements that  a  hurried  glance  revealed  to  him. 

It  was  also  plain  here,  as  from  the  shop  already 
more  fully  described,  that  the  edicts  against  machines 
had  been  repealed,  for  there  were  physical  try-your- 
.strengths,  as  in  the  other  shop  there  had  been  moral 
ones,  and  such  machines  under  the  old  law  would  not 
have  been  tolerated  for  a  moment. 

My  father  made  his  purchases  just  as  the  last  shops 
were  closing.  He  noticed  that  almost  all  of  them  were 
full  of  articles  labelled  "Dedication."  There  was 
Dedication  gingerbread,  stamped  with  a  moulder  rep- 
resentation of  the  new  temple;  there  were  Dedication 
syrups.  Dedication  pocket-handkerchiefs,  also  shew- 
ing the  temple,  and  in  one  corner  giving  a  highly  ideal- 
ised portrait  of  my  father  himself.  The  chariot  and 
the  horses  figured  largely,  and  in  the  confectioners' 


The  New  Order  73 

shops  there  were  models  of  the  newly  discovered  relic 
— made,  so  my  father  thought,  with  a  little  heap  of 
cherries  or  strawberries,  smothered  in  chocolate.  Out- 
side one  tailor's  shop  he  saw  a  flaring  advertisement 
which  can  only  be  translated,  "Try  our  Dedication 
trousers,  price  ten  shillings  and  sixpence." 

Presently  he  passed  the  new  temple,  but  it  was  too 
dark  for  him  to  do  more  than  see  that  it  was  a  vast 
fane,  and  must  have  cost  an  untold  amount  of  money. 
At  every  turn  he  found  himself  more  and  more 
shocked,  as  he  realised  more  and  more  fully  the  mis- 
chief he  had  already  occasioned,  and  the  certainty  that 
this  was  small  as  compared  with  that  which  would 
grow  up  hereafter. 

"What,"  he  said  to  me,  very  coherently  and  quietly, 
"was  I  to  do?  I  had  struck  a  bargain  with  that  dear 
fellow,  though  he  knew  not  what  I  meant,  to  the  effect 
that  I  should  try  to  undo  the  harm  I  had  done,  by 
standing  up  before  the  people  on  Sunday  and  saying 
who  I  was.  True,  they  would  not  believe  me.  They 
would  look  at  my  hair  and  see  it  black,  whereas  it 
should  be  very  light.  On  this  they  would  look  no  fur- 
ther, but  very  likely  tear  me  to  pieces  then  and  there. 
Suppose  that  the  authorities  held  a  post-mortem  ex- 
amination, and  that  many  who  knew  me  (let  alone  that 
all  my  measurements  and  marks  were  recorded  twenty 
years  ago)  identified  the  body  as  mine:  would  those  in 
power  admit  that  I  was  the  Sunchild?  Not  they.  The 
interests  vested  in  my  being  now  in  the  palace  of  the 
sun  are  too  great  to  allow  of  my  having  been  torn  to 
pieces  in  Sunch'ston,  no  matter  how  truly  I  li.id  been 
torn ;  the  whole  thing  would  be  hushed  up.  and  the 


74  Erewhon  Revisited 

utmost  that  could  come  of  it  would  be  a  heresy  which 
would  in  time  be  crushed. 

"On  the  other  hand,  what  business  have  I  with 
'would  be'  or  'would  not  be?'  Should  I  not  speak  out, 
come  what  may,  when  I  see  a  whole  people  being  led 
astray  by  those  who  are  merely  exploiting  them  for 
their  own  ends?  Though  I  could  do  but  little,  ought 
I  not  to  do  that  little?  What  did  that  good  fellow's 
instinct — so  straight  from  heaven,  so  true,  so  healthy 
— tell  him?  What  did  my  own  instinct  answer? 
What  would  the  conscience  of  any  honourable  man 
answer?    Who  can  doubt? 

"And  yet,  is  there  not  reason?  and  is  it  not  God- 
given  as  much  as  instinct?  I  remember  having  heard 
an  anthem  in  my  young  days,  'O  where  shall  wisdom 
be  found  ?  the  deep  saith  it  is  not  in  me.'  As  the  sing- 
ers kept  on  repeating  the  question,  I  kept  on  saying 
sorrowfully  to  myself — 'Ah,  where,  where,  where?' 
and  when  the  triumphant  answer  came,  'The  fear  of 
the  Lord,  that  is  wisdom,  and  to  depart  from  evil  is 
understanding,'  I  shrunk  ashamed  into  myself  for  not 
having  foreseen  it.  In  later  life,  when  I  have  tried  to 
use  this  answer  as  a  light  by  which  I  could  walk,  I 
found  it  served  but  to  the  raising  of  another  question, 
'What  is  the  fear  of  the  Lord,  and  what  is  evil  in  this 
particular  case?'  And  my  easy  method  with  spiritual 
dilemmas  proved  to  be  but  a  case  of  ignofum  per 
ignoHus. 

"If  Satan  himself  is  at  times  transformed  into  an 
angel  of  light,  are  not  angels  of  light  sometimes  trans- 
formed into  the  likeness  of  Satan?  If  the  devil  is  not 
so  black  as  he  is  painted,  is  God  always  so  white?  And 
is  there  not  another  place  in  which  it  is  said,  'The  fear 


The  New  Order  75 

of  the  Lord  is  the  beginning  of  wisdom,'  as  though  it 
were  not  the  last  word  upon  the  subject?  If  a  man 
should  not  do  evil  that  good  may  come,  so  neither 
should  he  do  good  that  evil  may  come;  and  though  it 
were  good  for  me  to  speak  out,  should  I  not  do  better 
by  refraining? 

"Such  were  the  lawless  and  uncertain  thoughts  that 
tortured  me  very  cruelly,  so  that  I  did  what  I  had  not 
done  for  many  a  long  year — I  prayed  for  guidance. 
'Shew  me  Thy  will,  O  Lord,'  I  cried  in  great  distress, 
'and  strengthen  me  to  do  it  when  Thou  hast  shewn  it 
me,'  But  there  was  no  answer.  Instinct  tore  me  one 
way  and  reason  another.  Whereon  I  settled  that  I 
would  obey  the  reason  with  which  God  had  endowed 
me,  unless  the  instinct  He  had  also  given  me  should 
thrash  it  out  of  me.  I  could  get  no  further  than  this, 
that  the  Lord  hath  mercy  on  whom  He  will  have 
mercy,  and  whom  He  willeth  He  hardeneth ;  and  again 
I  prayed  that  I  might  be  among  those  on  whom  He 
would  shew  His  mercy. 

"This  was  the  strongest  internal  conflict  that  I  ever 
remember  to  have  felt,  and  it  was  at  the  end  of  it  that 
I  perceived  the  first,  but  as  yet  very  faint,  symptoms  of 
that  sickness  from  which  I  shall  not  recover.  Whether 
this  be  a  token  of  mercy  or  no,  my  Father  which  is  in 
heaven  knows,  but  I  know  not." 

From  what  my  father  afterwards  told  me,  I  do  not 
think  the  above  reflections  had  engrossed  him  for 
more  than  three  or  four  minutes;  the  giddiness  which 
had  for  .some  seconds  compelled  him  to  lay  hold  of  the 
first  thing  he  could  catch  at  in  order  to  avoid  falling, 
passed  away  without  leaving  a  trace  k-hind  it,  and  his 
path  seemed  to  become  comfortably  clear  before  him. 


76  Erewhon  Revisited 

He  settled  it  that  the  proper  thing  to  do  would  be  to 
buy  some  food,  start  back  at  once  while  his  permit  was 
still  valid,  help  himself  to  the  property  which  he  had 
sold  to  the  Professors,  leaving  the  Erewhonians  to 
wrestle  as  they  best  might  with  the  lot  that  it  had 
pleased  Heaven  to  send  them. 

This,  however,  was  too  heroic  a  course.  He  was 
tired,  and  wanted  a  night's  rest  in  a  bed;  he  was 
hungry,  and  wanted  a  substantial  meal;  he  was  curi- 
ous, moreover,  to  see  the  temple  dedicated  to  himself, 
and  hear  Hanky's  sermon ;  there  was  also  his  further 
difficulty,  he  would  have  to  take  what  he  had  sold  the 
Professors  without  returning  them  their  £4,  los.,  for 
he  could  not  do  without  his  blanket,  &c. ;  and  even 
if  he  left  a  bag  of  nuggets  made  fast  to  the  sucker,  he 
must  either  place  it  where  it  could  be  seen  so  easily  that 
it  would  very  likely  get  stolen,  or  hide  it  so  cleverly 
that  the  Professors  would  never  find  it.  He  there- 
fore compromised  by  concluding  that  he  would  sup 
and  sleep  in  Sunch'ston,  get  through  the  morrow  as  he 
best  could  without  attracting  attention,  deepen  the 
stain  on  his  face  and  hair,  and  rely  on  the  change  so 
made  in  his  appearance  to  prevent  his  being  recognised 
at  the  dedication  of  the  temple.  He  would  do  nothing 
to  disillusion  the  people — to  do  this  would  only  be 
making  bad  worse.  As  soon  as  the  service  was  over, 
he  would  set  out  towards  the  preserves,  and,  when  it 
was  well  dark,  make  for  the  statues.  He  hoped  that 
on  such  a  great  day  the  rangers  might  be  many  of 
them  in  Sunch'ston;  if  there  were  any  about,  he  must 
trust  to  the  moonless  night  and  his  own  quick  eyes  and 
ears  to  get  him  through  the  preserves  safely. 

The  shops  were  by  this  time  closed,  but  the  keepers 


The  New  Order  77 

of  a  few  stalls  were  tnnng  by  lamplight  to  sell  the 
wares  they  had  not  yet  got  rid  of.  One  of  these  was 
a  bookstall,  and,  running  his  eye  over  some  of  the 
volumes,  my  father  saw  one  entitled — 

"The  Sayings  of  the  Sunchild  during  his  stay  in 
Erewhon,  to  which  is  added  a  true  account  of 
his  return  to  the  palace  of  the  sun  with  his 
Erewhonian  bride.  This  is  the  only  version  autho- 
rised by  the  Presidents  and  Vice-Presidents  of  the 
Musical  Banks;  all  other  versions  being  imperfect 
and  inaccurate. — Bridgeford,  XVIII,  150  pp.  8vo, 
Price  3s. 

The  reader  will  understand  that  I  am  giving  the 
prices  as  nearly  as  I  can  in  their  English  equivalents. 
Another  title  was — 

"The  Sacrament  of  Divorce :  an  Occasional  Sermon 
preached  by  Dr.  Gurgoyle,  President  of  the  Musical 
Banks  for  the  Province  of  Sunch'ston.  8vo,  16  pp. 
6d. 

Other  titles  ran — 

"Counsels  of  Imperfection."    8vo,  20  pp.    6d. 
"Hygiene ;   or,   How  to  Diagnose  your  Doctor.     8vo, 
10  pp.     3d. 

"The  Physics  of  Vicarious  Existence,"  Ijy  Dr.  Gur- 
goyle, President  of  the  Musical  Banks  for  the  Pro- 
vince of  Sunch'.ston.     8vo,  20  pp.     6d. 

There  were  many  other  l)ooks  whose  titles  would 
probably  have  attracted  my  father  as  much  as  those 
that  I  have  given,  but  he  was  too  tired  and  hungry  to 
look  at  more.  Finrling  that  he  could  buy  all  the  fore- 
going for  4s  9d.,  he  bought  them  and  stuffed  tiicm  into 
the  valise  that  he  had  just  bought.  I^is  purchases  in 
all  had  now  amounted  to  a  little  over  £1,  los,  (silver), 


78  Erewhon  Revisited 

leaving  him  about  £3  (silver),  including  the  money 
for  which  he  had  sold  the  quails,  to  carry  him  on  till 
Sunday  afternoon.  He  intended  to  spend  say  £2 
(silver),  and  keep  the  rest  of  the  money  in  order  to 
give  it  to  the  British  Museum, 

He  now  began  to  search  for  an  inn,  and  walked 
about  the  less  fashionable  parts  of  the  town  till  he 
found  an  unpretending  tavern,  which  he  thought  would 
suit  him.  Here,  on  importunity,  he  was  given  a  ser- 
vant's room  at  the  top  of  the  house,  all  others  being 
engaged  by  visitors  who  had  come  for  the  dedication. 
He  ordered  a  meal,  of  which  he  stood  in  great  need, 
and  having  eaten  it,  he  retired  early  for  the  night.  But 
he  smoked  a  pipe  surreptitiously  up  the  chimney  before 
he  got  into  bed. 

Meanwhile  other  things  were  happening,  of  which, 
happily  for  his  repose,  he  was  still  ignorant,  and  which 
he  did  not  learn  till  a  few  days  later.  Not  to  depart 
from  chronological  order  I  will  deal  with  them  in  my 
next  chapter. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

VRAM,  NOW  MAYORESS,  GIVES  A  DINNER-PARTY,  IN  THE 
COURSE  OF  WHICH  SHE  IS  DISQUIETED  BY  WHAT 
SHE  LEARNS  FROM  PROFESSOR  HANKY:  SHE  SENDS 
FOR  HER  SON  GEORGE  AND  QUESTIONS  HIM 

The  Professors,  returning  to  their  hotel  early  on 
the  Friday  morning,  found  a  note  from  the  IMayoress 
urging  them  to  be  her  guests  during  the  remainder  of 
their  visit,  and  to  meet  other  friends  at  dinner  on  the 
same  evening.  They  accepted,  and  tlien  went  to  bed ; 
for  they  had  passed  the  night  under  the  tree  in  which 
they  had  hidden  their  purchase,  and,  as  may  be  imag- 
ined, had  slept  but  little.  They  rested  all  day,  and 
transferred  themselves  and  their  belongings  to  the 
Mayor's  house  in  time  to  dress  for  dinner. 

When  they  came  down  into  the  drawing-room  they 
found  a  brilliant  company  assembled,  chiclly  Musical- 
Bankical  like  themselves.  There  was  Dr.  Downie, 
Professor  of  Logomachy,  and  perhaps  the  most  subtle 
dialectician  in  Erewhon.  lie  could  say  nothing  in 
more  words  than  any  man  of  his  generation.  Mis 
text-book  on  the  "Art  of  Obscuring  Issues"  had 
passed  through  ten  or  twelve  editions,  and  was  in  the 
hands  of  all  aspirants  for  academic  distinction.  He 
had  earned  a  high  rejjutation  for  sobriety  of  judgment 
by  resolutely  refusing  to  have  definite  views  on  any 
subject;  so  safe  a  man  was  he  considered,  that  while 

79 


8o  Erewhon  Revisited 

still  quite  young  he  had  been  appointed  to  the  lucrative 
post  of  Thinker  in  Ordinary  to  the  Royal  Family. 
There  was  Mr.  Principal  Crank,  with  his  sister  Mrs. 
Quack;  Professors  Gabb  and  Bawl,  with  their  wives 
and  two  qt  three  erudite  daughters. 

Old  Mrs.  Humdrum  (of  which  more  anon)  was 
there  of  course,  with  her  venerable  white  hair  and  rich 
black  satin  dress,  looking  the  very  ideal  of  all  that  a 
stately  old  dowager  ought  to  be.  In  society  she  was 
commonly  known  as  Ydgrun,  so  perfectly  did  she  cor- 
respond with  the  conception  of  this  strange  goddess 
formed  by  the  Erewhonians.  She  was  one  of  those 
who  had  visited  my  father  when  he  was  in  prison 
twenty  years  earlier.  When  he  told  me  that  she  was 
now  called  Ydgrun,  he  said,  "I  am  sure  that  the 
Erinyes  were  only  Mrs.  Humdrums,  and  that  they 
were  delightful  people  when  you  came  to  know  them. 
I  do  not  believe  they  did  the  awful  things  we  say  they 
did.  I  think,  but  am  not  quite  sure,  that  they  let 
Orestes  off;  but  even  though  they  had  not  pardoned 
him,  I  doubt  whether  they  would  have  done  anything 
more  dreadful  to  him  than  issue  a  mot  d'ordre  that 
he  was  not  to  be  asked  to  any  more  afternoon  teas. 
This,  however,  would  be  down-right  torture  to  some 
people.  At  any  rate,"  he  continued,  ''be  it  the  Erinyes, 
or  Mrs.  Grundy,  or  Ydgrun,  in  all  times  and  places  it 
is  woman  who  decides  whether  society  is  to  condone 
an  offence  or  no." 

Among  the  most  attractive  ladies  present  was  one 
for  whose  Erewhonian  name  I  can  find  no  English 
equivalent,  and  whom  I  must  therefore  call  Miss  La 
Frime.  She  was  Lady  President  of  the  principal 
establishment  for  the  higher  education  of  young  ladies, 


Yram  Guesses  the  Truth  8i 

and  so  celebrated  was  she,  that  pupils  flocked  to  her 
from  all  parts  of  the  surrounding  country.  Her 
primer  (written  for  the  Erewhonian  Arts  and  Science 
Series)  on  the  Art  of  Man-killing,  was  the  most  com- 
plete thing  of  the  kind  that  had  yet  been  done;  but 
ill-natured  people  had  been  heard  to  say  that  she  had 
killed  all  her  own  admirers  so  effectually  that  not  one 
of  them  had  ever  lived  to  marry  her.  According  to 
Erewhonian  custom  the  successful  marriages  of  the 
pupils  are  inscribed  yearly  on  the  oak  panelling  of  the 
college  refectory,  and  a  reprint  from  these  in  pamphlet 
form  accompanies  all  the  prospectuses  that  are  sent 
out  to  parents.  It  was  alleged  that  no  other  ladies' 
seminary  in  Erewhon  could  show  such  a  brilliant 
record  during  all  the  years  of  Miss  La  Prime's  presi- 
dency. Many  other  guests  of  less  note  were  there,  but 
the  lions  of  the  evening  were  the  two  Professors  whom 
we  have  already  met  with,  and  more  particularly 
Planky,  who  took  the  Mayoress  in  to  dinner.  Panky, 
of  course,  wore  his  clothes  reversed,  as  did  Principal 
Crank  and  Professor  Gabb;  the  others  were  dressed 
English  fashion. 

Everything  hung  upon  the  hostess,  for  the  host  was 
little  more  than  a  still  handsome  figure-head.  He  had 
been  remarkable  for  his  good  looks  as  a  young  man, 
and  Strong  is  the  nearest  approach  I  can  get  to  a 
translation  of  his  Erewhonian  name.  His  face  in- 
spired confidence  at  once,  but  he  was  a  man  of  few 
words,  and  had  little  of  that  grace  which  in  his  wife 
set  every  one  instantly  at  his  or  her  ease.  He  knew 
that  all  would  go  well  so  long  as  he  left  everything  to 
her,  and  kept  himself  as  far  as  might  be  in  the  back- 
ground. 


82  Erewhon  Revisited 

Before  dinner  was  announced  there  was  the  usual 
buzz  of  conversation,  chiefly  occupied  with  sakita- 
tions,  good  wishes  for  Sunday's  weather,  and  admira- 
tion for  the  extreme  beauty  of  the  Mayoress's  three 
daughters,  the  two  elder  of  whom  were  already  out; 
while  tlie  third,  though  only  thirteen,  might  have 
passed  for  a  year  or  two  older.  Their  mother  was  so 
much  engrossed  with  receiving  her  guests  that  it  was 
not  till  they  were  all  at  table  that  she  was  able  to  ask 
Hanky  what  he  thought  of  the  statues,  which  she  had 
heard  that  he  and  Professor  Panky  had  been  to  see. 
She  was  told  how  much  interested  he  had  been  with 
them,  and  how  unable  he  had  been  to  form  any  theory 
as  to  their  date  or  object.  He  then  added,  appealingly 
to  Panky,  who  was  on  the  Mayoress's  left  hand,  "but 
we  had  rather  a  strange  adventure  on  our  way  down, 
had  we  not,  Panky  ?  We  got  lost,  and  were  benighted 
in  the  forest.  Happily  we  fell  in  with  one  of  the 
rangers  who  had  lit  a  fire." 

"Do  I  understand,  then,"  said  Yram,  as  I  suppose 
we  may  as  well  call  her,  "that  3^ou  were  out  all  last 
night?  How  tired  you  must  be!  But  I  hope  you  had 
enough  provisions  with  you?" 

"Indeed  we  were  out  all  night.  We  staid  by  the 
ranger's  fire  till  midnight,  and  then  tried  to  find  our 
way  down,  but  we  gave  it  up  soon  after  we  had  got 
out  of  the  forest,  and  then  waited  under  a  large  chest- 
nut tree  till  four  or  five  this  morning.  As  for  food, 
we  had  not  so  much  as  a  mouthful  from  about  three 
in  the  afternoon  till  we  got  to  our  inn  early  this  mom- 
ing." 

"Oh,  you  poor,  poor  people!  how  tired  you  must 
be." 


Yram  Guesses  the  Truth  83 

"No;  we  made  a  good  breakfast  as  soon  as  we  got 
in,  and  then  went  to  bed,  where  we  staid  till  it  was 
time  for  us  to  come  to  your  house." 

Here  Panky  gave  his  friend  a  significant  look,  as 
much  as  to  say  that  he  had  said  enough. 

This  set  Hanky  on  at  once.  "Strange  to  say,  the 
ranger  was  wearing  the  old  Erewhonian  dress.  It 
did  me  good  to  see  it  again  after  all  these  years.  It 
seems  your  son  lets  his  men  wear  what  few  of  the  old 
clothes  they  may  still  have,  so  long  as  they  keep  well 
away  from  the  town.  But  fancy  how  carefully  these 
poor  fellows  husband  them;  why,  it  must  be  seven- 
teen years  since  the  dress  was  forbidden!" 

We  all  of  us  have  skeletons,  large  or  small,  in  some 
cupboard  of  our  lives,  but  a  well  regulated  skeleton 
that  will  stay  in  its  cupboard  quietly  does  not  much 
matter.  There  are  skeletons,  however,  which  can 
never  be  quite  trusted  not  to  open  the  cupboard  door  at 
some  awkward  moment,  go  down  stairs,  ring  the  hall- 
door  bell,  with  grinning  face  announce  themselves  as 
the  skeleton,  and  ask  whether  the  master  or  mistress  is 
at  home.  This  kind  of  skeleton,  though  no  bigger  than 
a  rabbit,  will  sometimes  loom  large  as  that  of  a  dino- 
therium.  My  father  was  Yram's  skeleton.  True,  he 
was  a  mere  skeleton  of  a  skeleton,  for  the  chances  were 
thousands  to  one  tliat  lie  and  my  mother  had  perished 
long  years  ago ;  and  even  though  he  rang  at  the  bell, 
there  was  no  harm  that  he  cither  could  or  would  now 
do  to  her  or  hers ;  still,  so  long  as  she  did  not  certainly 
know  that  he  was  dead,  or  otherwise  precluded  from 
returning,  she  could  not  be  sure  that  he  would  not  one 
day  come  back  by  the  way  that  he  would  alone  know, 
and  she  had  rather  he  should  not  do  so. 


84  Erewhon  Revisited 

Hence,  on  hearing  from  Professor  Hanky  that  a 
man  had  been  seen  between  the  statues  and  Simch'ston 
wearing  the  old  Erewhonian  dress,  she  was  disquieted 
and  perplexed.  The  excuse  he  had  evidently  made  to 
the  Professors  aggravated  her  uneasiness,  for  it  was 
an  obvious  attempt  to  escape  from  an  unexpected  dif- 
ficulty. There  could  be  no  truth  in  it.  Her  son  would 
as  soon  think  of  wearing  the  old  dress  himself  as  of 
letting  his  men  do  so;  and  as  for  having  old  clothes 
still  to  wear  out  after  seventeen  years,  no  one  but  a 
Bridgeford  Professor  would  accept  this.  She  saw, 
therefore,  that  she  must  keep  her  wits  about  her,  and 
lead  her  guests  on  to  tell  her  as  much  as  they  could  be 
induced  to  do. 

"My  son,"  she  said  innocently,  "is  always  consider- 
ate to  his  men,  and  that  is  why  they  are  so  devoted  to 
him.  I  wonder  which  of  them  it  was?  In  what  part 
of  the  preserves  did  you  fall  in  with  him?" 

Hanky  described  the  place,  and  gave  the  best  idea 
he  could  of  my  father's  appearance. 

"Of  course  he  was  swarthy  like  the  rest  of  us?" 

"I  saw  nothing  remarkable  about  him,  except  that 
his  eyes  were  blue  and  his  eyelashes  nearly  white, 
which,  as  you  know,  is  rare  in  Erewhon.  Indeed,  I 
do  not  remember  ever  before  to  have  seen  a  man  with 
dark  hair  and  complexion  but  light  eyelashes.  Nature 
is  always  doing  something  unusual." 

"I  have  no  doubt,"  said  Yram,  "that  he  was  the  man 
they  call  Blacksheep,  but  I  never  noticed  this  pecu- 
liarity in  him.  If  he  was  Blacksheep,  I  am  afraid  you 
must  have  found  him  none  too  civil ;  he  is  a  rough  dia- 
mond, and  you  would  hardly  be  able  to  understand  his 
uncouth  Sunch'ston  dialect." 


Yram  Guesses  the  Truth  85 

"On  the  contrary,  he  was  most  kind  and  thoughtful 
— even  so  far  as  to  take  our  permit  from  us,  and  thus 
save  us  the  trouble  of  giving  it  up  at  your  son's  office. 
As  for  his  dialect,  his  grammar  was  often  at  fault,  but 
we  could  quite  understand  him." 

"I  am  glad  to  hear  he  behaved  better  than  I  could 
have  expected.  Did  he  say  in  what  part  of  the  pre- 
serves he  had  been?" 

"He  had  been  catching  quails  between  the  place 
where  we  saw  him  and  the  statutes ;  he  was  to  deliver 
three  dozen  to  your  son  this  afternoon  for  the  Mayor's 
banquet  on  Sunday." 

This  was  worse  and  worse.  She  had  urged  her  son 
to  provide  her  with  a  supply  of  quails  for  Sunday's 
banquet,  but  he  had  begged  her  not  to  insist  on  having 
them.  There  was  no  close  time  for  them  in  Erewhon, 
but  he  set  his  face  against  their  being  seen  at  table  in 
spring  and  summer.  During  the  winter,  when  any 
great  occasion  arose,  he  had  allowed  a  few  brace  to  be 
provided. 

*T  asked  my  son  to  let  me  have  some,"  said  Yram, 
who  was  now  on  full  scent.  She  laughed  genially  as 
she  added,  "Can  you  throw  any  light  upon  the  ques- 
tion whether  I  am  likely  to  get  my  three  dozen?  I 
have  had  no  news  as  yet." 

"The  man  had  taken  a  good  many;  we  saw  them 
but  did  not  count  fhcm.  He  started  about  midnight 
for  the  ranger's  shelter,  where  he  said  he  should  sleep 
till  daybreak,  so  as  to  make  up  his  full  talc  betimes." 

Yram  had  heard  her  son  complain  that  there  were 
no  shelters  on  the  preserves,  and  state  his  intention  of 
having  some  built  before  the  winter.  TTcre  too,  then, 
the  man's  story  must  be  false.     She  changed  the  con- 


86  Erewhon  Revisited 

versation  for  tlie  moment,  but  quietly  told  a  servant  to 
send  high  and  low  in  search  of  her  son,  and  if  he  could 
be  found,  to  bid  him  come  to  her  at  once.  She  then 
returned  to  her  previous  subject. 

"And  did  not  this  heartless  wretch,  knowing  how 
hungry  you  must  both  be,  let  you  have  a  quail  or  two 
as  an  act  of  pardonable  charity?" 

"My  dear  Mayoress,  how  can  you  ask  such  a  ques- 
tion? We  knew  you  would  want  all  you  could  get; 
moreover,  our  permit  threatened  us  with  all  sorts  of 
horrors  if  we  so  much  as  ate  a  single  quail.  I  assure 
you  we  never  even  allowed  a  thought  of  eating  one  of 
them  to  cross  our  minds." 

"Then,"  said  Yram  to  herself,  "they  gorged  upon 
them."  What  could  she  think?  A  man  who  wore 
the  old  dress,  and  therefore  who  had  almost  certainly 
been  in  Erewhon,  but  had  been  many  years  away  from 
it;  who  spoke  the  language  well,  but  whose  grammar 
was  defective — hence,  again,  one  who  had  spent  some 
time  in  Erewhon ;  who  knew  nothing  of  the  afforesting 
law  now  long  since  enacted,  for  how  else  would  he 
have  dared  to  light  a  fire  and  be  seen  with  quails  in 
his  possession ;  an  adroit  liar,  who  on  gleaning  infor- 
mation from  the  Professors  had  hazarded  an  excuse 
for  immediately  retracing  his  steps;  a  man,  too,  with 
blue  eyes  and  light  eyelashes.  What  did  it  matter 
about  his  hair  being  dark  and  his  complexion  swarthy 
— Higgs  was  far  too  clever  to  attempt  a  second  visit 
to  Erewhon  without  dyeing  his  hair  and  staining  his 
face  and  hands.  And  he  had  got  their  permit  out  of 
the  Professors  before  he  left  them;  clearly,  then,  he 
meant  coming  back,  and  coming  back  at  once  before 
the  permit  had  expired.     How  could  she  doubt?    My 


Yram  Guesses  the  Truth  87 

father,  she  felt  sure,  must  by  this  time  be  in  Sunch'- 
ston.  He  would  go  back  to  change  his  clothes,  which 
would  not  be  very  far  down  on  the  other  side  the  pass, 
for  he  would  not  put  on  his  old  Erewhonian  dress  till 
he  was  on  the  point  of  entering  Erewhon;  and  he 
would  hide  his  English  dress  rather  than  throw  it 
away,  for  he  would  want  it  when  he  went  back  again. 
It  would  be  quite  possible,  then,  for  him  to  get  through 
the  forest  before  the  permit  was  void,  and  he  would 
be  sure  to  go  on  to  Sunch'ston  for  the  night. 

She  chatted  unconcernedly,  now  with  one  guest  now 
with  another,  while  they  in  their  turn  chatted  uncon- 
cernedly with  one  another. 

Miss  La  Prime  to  Mrs.  Humdrum :  "You  know  how 
he  got  his  professorship?  No?  I  thought  every  one 
knew  that.  The  question  the  candidates  had  to  an- 
swer was,  whether  it  was  wiser  during  a  long  stay  at 
a  hotel  to  tip  the  servants  pretty  early,  or  to  wait  till 
the  stay  was  ended.  All  the  other  candidates  took  one 
side  or  the  other,  and  argued  their  case  in  full.  Hanky 
sent  in  three  lines  to  the  effect  that  the  proper  thing 
to  do  would  be  to  promise  at  the  beginning,  and  go 
away  without  giving.  The  King,  with  whom  the  ap- 
pointment rested,  was  so  much  pleased  with  this  an- 
swer that  he  gave  T  lanky  the  professorship  without  so 
much  as  looking  ..." 

Professor  Gabb  to  Mrs.  Humdrum:  "Oh,  no,  I  can 
assure  you  there  is  no  truth  in  it.  What  happened 
was  this.  There  was  the  usual  crowd,  and  the  people 
cheered  Professor  after  Professor,  as  he  stood  before 
them  in  the  great  Bridgcford  theatre  and  satisfied  them 
that  a  lump  of  butter  which  had  been  put  into  his 
mouth  would  not  melt  in  it.    When  Hanky's  turn  came 


88  Erewhon  Revisited 

he  was  taken  suddenly  unwell,  and  had  to  leave  the 
theatre,  on  which  there  was  a  report  in  the  house  that 
the  butter  had  melted ;  this  was  at  once  stopped  by  the 
return  of  the  Professor.  Another  piece  of  butter  was 
put  into  his  mouth,  and  on  being  taken  out  after  the 
usual  time,  was  found  to  show  no  signs  of  having  .  .  ." 

Miss  Bawl  to  Mr.  Principal  Crank:  .  .  .  "The 
Manager  was  so  tall,  you  know,  and  then  there  was 
that  little  mite  of  an  assistant  manager — it  was  so 
funny.  For  the  assistant  manager's  voice  was  ever  so 
much  louder  than  the  ..." 

Mrs.  Bawl  to  Professor  Gabb:  .  .  .  "Live  for  art? 
If  I  had  to  choose  whether  I  would  lose  either  art  or 
science,  I  have  not  the  smallest  hesitation  in  saying 
that  I  would  lose  .  .  ." 

The  Mayor  and  Dr.  Downie:  .  .  .  "That  you  are 
to  be  canonised  at  the  close  of  the  year  along  with 
Professors  Hanky  and  Panky?" 

"I  believe  it  is  his  Majesty's  intention  that  the  Pro- 
fessors and  myself  are  to  head  the  list  of  the  Sun- 
child's  Saints,  but  we  have  all  of  us  got  to  ...  " 

And  so  on,  and  so  on,  buzz,  buzz,  buzz,  over  the 
whole  table.  Presently  Yram  turned  to  Hanky  and 
said — 

"By  the  way,  Professor,  you  must  have  found  it 
very  cold  up  at  the  statues,  did  you  not?  But  I  sup- 
pose the  snow  is  all  gone  by  this  time?" 

"Yes,  it  was  cold,  and  though  the  winter's  snow  is 
melted,  there  had  been  a  recent  fall.  Strange  to  say, 
we  saw  fresh  footprints  in  it,  as  of  some  one  who  had 
come  up  from  the  other  side.  But  thereon  hangs  a 
tale,  about  which  I  believe  I  should  say  nothing." 

"Then  say  nothing,  my  dear  Professor,"  said  Yram 


Yram  Guesses  the  Truth  89 

with  a  frank  smile.  "Above  all,"  she  added  quietly  and 
gravely,  "say  nothing  to  the  Mayor,  nor  to  my  son, 
till  after  Sunday.  Even  a  whisper  of  some  one  com- 
ing over  from  the  other  side  disquiets  them,  and  they 
have  enough  on  hand  for  the  moment." 

Panky,  who  had  been  growing  more  and  more  res- 
tive at  his  friend's  outspokenness,  but  who  had  en- 
couraged it  more  than  once  by  vainly  trying  to  check 
it,  was  relieved  at  hearing  his  hostess  do  for  him  what 
he  could  not  do  for  himself.  As  for  Yram,  she  had  got 
enough  out  of  the  Professor  to  be  now  fully  dissatis- 
fied, and  mentally  informed  them  that  they  might 
leave  the  witness-box.  During  the  rest  of  dinner  she 
let  the  subject  of  their  adventure  severely  alone. 

It  seemed  to  her  as  though  dinner  was  never  going 
to  end ;  but  in  the  course  of  time  it  did  so,  and  pres- 
ently the  ladies  withdrew.  As  they  were  entering  the 
drawing-room  a  servant  told  her  that  her  son  had  been 
found  more  easily  than  was  expected,  and  was  now 
in  his  own  room  dressing. 

"Tell  him,"  she  said,  "to  stay  there  till  I  come, 
which  I  will  do  directly." 

She  remained  for  a  few  minutes  with  her  guests, 
and  then,  excusing  herself  quietly  to  Mrs.  Humdrum, 
she  stepped  out  and  hastened  to  her  son's  room.  She 
told  him  that  Professors  Hanky  and  Panky  were  stay- 
ing in  the  hou.se,  and  that  during  dinner  they  had  told 
her  .somctliing  he  ouL,'ht  {o  know,  but  which  there  was 
no  time  to  tell  him  imtil  her  guests  were  gone.  "I  had 
rather,"  she  said,  "tell  you  about  it  before  you  see  the 
Professors,  for  if  you  sec  them  the  whole  thing  will 
l)e  reopened,  and  you  are  sure  to  let  them  see  how 
much  more  there  is  in  it  than  they  suspect.     T  want 


90  Erewhon  Revisited 

everything  hushed  up  for  the  moment;  do  not,  there- 
fore, join  us.  Have  dinner  sent  to  you  in  your 
father's  study.     I  will  come  to  you  about  midnight." 

"But,  my  dear  mother,"  said  George,  "I  have  seen 
Panky  already.  I  walked  down  with  him  a  good  long 
way  this  afternoon." 

Yram  had  not  expected  this,  but  she  kept  her  coun- 
tenance. "How  did  you  know,"  said  she,  "that  he 
was  Professor  Panky?    Did  he  tell  you  so?" 

"Certainly  he  did.  He  showed  me  his  permit,  which 
was  made  out  in  favour  of  Professors  Hanky  and 
Panky,  or  either  of  them.  He  said  Hanky  had  been 
unable  to  come  with  him,  and  that  he  was  himself 
Professor  Panky." 

Yram  again  smiled  very  sweetly.  "Then,  my  dear 
boy,"  she  said,  "I  am  all  the  more  anxious  that  you 
should  not  see  him  now.  See  nobody  but  the  ser- 
vants and  your  brothers,  and  wait  till  I  can  enlighten 
you.  I  must  not  stay  another  moment;  but  tell  me 
this  much,  have  you  seen  any  signs  of  poachers 
lately?" 

"Yes ;  there  were  three  last  night." 

"In  what  part  of  the  preserves?" 

Her  son  described  the  place. 

"You  are  sure  they  had  been  killing  quails?" 

"Yes,  and  eating  them — two  on  one  side  of  a  fire 
they  had  lit,  and  one  on  the  other;  this  last  man  had 
done  all  the  plucking." 

"Good!" 

She  kissed  him  with  more  than  even  her  usual  ten- 
derness, and  returned  to  the  drawing-room. 

During  the  rest  of  the  evening  she  was  engaged  in 
earnest  conversation  with  Mrs.  Humdrum,  leaving  her 


Yram  Guesses  the  Truth         91 

other  guests  to  her  daughters  and  to  themselves.  Mrs. 
Humdrum  had  been  her  closest  friend  for  many  years, 
and  carried  more  weight  than  any  one  else  in  Sunch'- 
ston,  except,  perhaps,  Yram  herself.  "Tell  him  every- 
thing," she  said  to  Yram  at  the  close  of  their  conversa- 
tion ;  "we  all  dote  upon  him ;  trust  him  frankly,  as  you 
trusted  your  husband  before  you  let  him  marry  you. 
No  lies,  no  reserves,  no  tears,  and  all  will  come  right. 
As  for  me,  command  me,"  and  the  good  old  lady  rose 
to  take  her  leave  with  as  kind  a  look  on  her  face  as 
ever  irradiated  saint  or  angel.  "I  go  early,"  she 
added,  "for  the  others  will  go  when  they  see  me  do 
so,  and  the  sooner  you  are  alone  the  better." 

By  half  an  hour  before  midnight  her  guests  had 
gone.  Hanky  and  Panky  were  given  to  understand 
that  they  must  still  be  tired,  and  had  better  go  to  bed. 
So  was  the  Mayor;  so  were  her  sons  and  daughters, 
except  of  course  George,  who  was  waiting  for  her 
with  some  anxiety,  for  he  had  seen  that  she  had  some- 
thing serious  to  tell  him.  Then  she  went  down  into 
the  study.  Her  son  embraced  her  as  she  entered,  and 
moved  an  easy  chair  for  her,  but  she  would  not 
have  it. 

"No;  I  will  have  an  upright  one."  Then,  sitting 
composedly  down  on  the  one  her  son  placed  for  her, 
she  said — 

"And  now  to  business.  But  let  me  first  tell  you  that 
the  Mayor  was  told,  twenty  years  ago,  all  the  more 
important  part  of  what  you  will  now  hear,  lie  does 
not  yet  know  what  has  happened  within  the  last  few 
hours,  but  either  you  or  I  will  IcU  him  to-morrow." 


CHAPTER  IX 

INTERVIEW    BETWEEN    YRAM    AND    HER    SON 

"What  did  you  think  of  Panky?" 

"I  could  not  make  him  out.  If  he  had  not  been  a 
Bridgeford  Professor  I  might  have  hked  him;  but 
you  know  how  we  all  of  us  distrust  those  people." 

"Where  did  you  meet  him?" 

"About  two  hours  lower  down  than  the  statues." 

"At  what  o'clock?" 

"It  might  be  between  two  and  half-past." 

"I  suppose  he  did  not  say  that  at  that  hour  he  was 
in  bed  at  his  hotel  in  Sunch'ston.  Hardly!  Tell  me 
what  passed  between  you." 

"He  had  his  permit  open  before  we  were  within 
speaking  distance.  I  think  he  feared  I  should  attack 
him  without  making  sure  whether  he  was  a  foreign 
devil  or  no.  I  have  told  you  he  said  he  was  Professor 
Panky." 

"I  suppose  he  had  a  dark  complexion  and  black  hair 
like  the  rest  of  us?" 

"Dark  complexion  and  hair  purplish  rather  than 
black.  I  was  surprised  to  see  that  his  eyelashes  were 
as  light  as  my  own,  and  his  eyes  were  blue  like  mine — 
but  you  will  have  noticed  this  at  dinner." 

"No,  my  dear,  I  did  not,  and  I  think  I  should  have 
done  so  if  it  had  been  there  to  notice." 

"Oh,  but  it  was  so  indeed." 

92 


Yram  and  Her  Son  93 

"Perhaps.  Was  there  anything  strange  about  his 
way  of  talking?" 

"A  little  about  his  grammar,  but  these  Bridge  ford 
Professors  have  often  risen  from  the  ranks.  His 
pronunciation  was  nearly  like  yours  and  mine." 

"Was  his  manner  friendly?" 

"Very;  more  so  than  I  could  understand  at  first. 
I  had  not,  how^ever,  been  with  him  long  before  I  saw 
tears  in  his  eyes,  and  when  I  asked  him  whether  he 
was  in  distress,  he  said  I  reminded  him  of  a  son  whom 
he  had  lost  and  had  found  after  many  years,  only  to 
lose  him  almost  immediately  for  ever.  Hence  his  cor- 
diality towards  me." 

"Then,"  said  Yram  half  hysterically  to  herself,  "he 
knew  who  you  were.  Now,  how,  I  wonder,  did  he 
find  that  out?"  All  vestige  of  doubt  as  to  who  the 
man  might  be  had  now  left  her. 

"Certainly  he  knew  who  I  was.  He  spoke  about 
you  more  than  once,  and  wished  us  every  kind  of  pros- 
perity, baring  his  head  reverently  as  he  spoke." 

"Poor  fellow!    Did  he  say  anything  about  Higgs?" 

"A  good  deal,  and  I  was  surprised  to  find  he  thought 
about  it  all  much  as  we  do.  But  when  I  said  that  if 
I  could  go  down  into  the  hell  of  which  Higgs  used 
to  talk  to  you  while  he  was  in  pri.son,  I  .should  expect 
to  find  him  in  its  hottest  fires,  he  did  not  like  it." 

"Possibly  not,  my  dear.  Did  you  tell  him  how  the 
other  lx)ys,  when  you  were  at  school,  used  sometimes 
to  say  you  were  son  to  this  man  Higgs,  and  that  the 
people  of  Sunch'ston  used  to  say  so  also,  till  the 
Mayor  trounced  two  or  three  people  so  roundly  that 
they  held  their  tongues  for  the  future?" 

"Not  all  that,  but  I  .said  that  silly  people  had  be- 


94  Erewhon  Revisited 

lieved  me  to  be  the  Siinchild's  son,  and  what  a  disgrace 
I  should  hold  it  to  be  son  to  such  an  impostor." 

"What  did  he  say  to  this  ?" 

"He  asked  whether  I  should  feel  the  disgrace  less  if 
Higgs  were  to  undo  the  mischief  he  had  caused  by- 
coming  back  and  shewing  himself  to  the  people  for 
what  he  was.  But  he  said  it  would  be  no  use  for  him 
to  do  so,  inasmuch  as  people  would  kill  him  but  would 
not  believe  him." 

"And  you  said?" 

"Let  him  come  back,  speak  out,  and  chance  what 
might  befall  him.  In  that  case,  I  should  honour  him, 
father  or  no  father." 

"And  he?" 

"He  asked  if  that  would  be  a  bargain;  and  when  I 
said  it  would,  he  grasped  me  warmly  by  the  hand  on 
Higgs's  behalf — though  what  it  could  matter  to  him 
passes  my  comprehension." 

"But  he  saw  that  even  though  Higgs  were  to  shew 
himself  and  say  who  he  was,  it  would  mean  death  to 
himself  and  no  good  to  any  one  else?" 

"Perfectly." 

"Then  he  can  have  meant  nothing  by  shaking  hands 
with  you.  It  was  an  idle  jest.  And  now  for  your 
poachers.  You  do  not  know  who  they  were?  I  will 
tell  you.  The  two  who  sat  on  the  one  side  the  fire 
were  Professors  Hanky  and  Panky  from  the  City  of 
the  People  who  are  above  Suspicion." 

"No,"  said  George  vehemently.    "Impossible." 

"Yes,  my  dear  boy,  quite  possible,  and  whether 
possibly  or  impossibly,  assuredly  true." 

"And  the  third  man?" 

"The  third  man  was  dressed  in  the  old  costume.   He 


Yram  and  Her  Son  95 

was  in  possession  of  several  brace  of  birds.  The 
Professors  vowed  they  had  not  eaten  any " 

"Oh  yes,  but  they  had,"  blurted  out  George. 

"Of  course  they  had,  my  dear;  and  a  good  thing 
too.     Let  us  return  to  the  man  in  the  old  costume." 

"That  is  puzzling.    Who  did  he  say  he  was?" 

"He  said  he  was  one  of  your  men;  that  you  had 
instructed  him  to  provide  you  with  three  dozen  quails 
for  Sunday;  and  that  you  let  your  men  wear  the 
old  costume  if  they  had  any  of  it  left,  provided " 

This  was  too  much  for  George;  he  started  to  his 
feet.  "What,  my  dearest  mother,  does  all  this  mean? 
You  have  been  playing  with  me  all  through.  What 
is  coming?" 

"A  very  little  more,  and  you  shall  hear.  This 
man  staid  with  the  Professors  till  nearly  midnight, 
and  then  left  them  on  tlie  plea  that  he  would  finish 
the  night  in  the   Ranger's   shelter " 

"Ranger's  shelter,  indeed!     Why " 

"Hush,  my  darling  boy,  be  patient  with  me.  He 
said  he  must  be  up  betimes,  to  run  down  the  rest  of 
the  quails  you  had  ordered  him  to  bring  you.  But 
before  leaving  the  Professors  he  beguiled  them  into 
giving  him  up  their  permit." 

"Then,"  said  George,  striding  about  the  room  with 
his  face  flushed  and  his  eyes  flashing,  "he  was  the 
man  with  whom  I  walked  down  this  afternoon," 

"Exactly  so." 

"And  he  must  have  changed  his  dress?" 

"Exactly  so." 

"But  where  and  how?" 

"At  some  place  not  very  far  down  on  the  other  side 
the  range,  where  he  had  hidden  his  old  clothes," 


96 


Erewhon  Revisited 


"And  who,  in  the  name  of  all  that  we  hold  most 
sacred,  do  you  take  him  to  have  been — for  I  see  you 
know  more  than  you  have  yet  told  me?" 

"My  son,  he  was  Higgs  the  Sunchild,  father  to 
that  boy  whom  I  love  next  to  my  husband  more  dearly 
than  any  one  in  the  whole  world." 

She  folded  her  arms  about  him  for  a  second,  with- 
out kissing  him,  and  left  him,  "And  now,"  she  said, 
the  moment  she  had  closed  the  door — "and  now  I 
may  cry." 


She  did  not  cry  for  long,  and  having  removed  all 
trace  of  tears  as  far  as  might  be,  she  returned  to  her 
son  outwardly  composed  and  cheerful.  "Shall  I  say 
more  now,"  she  said,  seeing  how  grave  he  looked, 
"or  shall  I  leave  you,  and  talk  further  with  you  to- 
morrow?" 

"Now — now — now !" 

"Good!  A  little  before  Higgs  came  here,  the 
Mayor,  as  he  now  is,  poor,  handsome,  generous  to  a 
fault  so  far  as  he  had  the  wherewithal,  was  adored 
by  all  the  women  of  his  own  rank  in  Sunch'ston.  Re- 
port said  that  he  had  adored  many  of  them  in  return, 
but  after  having  known  me  for  a  very  few  days,  he 
asked  me  to  marry  him,  protesting  that  he  was  a 
changed  man.  I  liked  him,  as  every  one  else  did,  but  I 
was  not  in  love  with  him,  and  said  so;  he  said  he 
would  give  me  as  much  time  as  I  chose,  if  I  would 
not  point-blank  refuse  him ;  and  so  the  matter  was 
left. 

"Within  a  week  or  so  Higgs  was  brought  to  the 
prison,  and  he  had  not  been  there  long  before  I  found 
or  thought  I   found,  that  I  liked  him  better  than  I 


Yram  and  Her  Son  97 

liked  Strong.  I  was  a  fool — but  there !  As  for  Higgs, 
he  Hked,  but  did  not  love  me.  If  I  had  let  him  alone 
he  would  have  done  the  like  by  me;  and  let  each 
other  alone  we  did,  till  the  day  before  he  was  taken 
down  to  the  capital.  On  that  day,  whether  through 
his  fault  or  mine  I  know  not — we  neither  of  us  meant 
it — it  was  as  though  Nature,  my  dear,  was  deter- 
mined that  you  should  not  slip  through  her  fingers — 
well,  on  that  day  we  took  it  into  our  heads  that  we 
were  broken-hearted  lovers — the  rest  followed.  And 
how,  my  dearest  boy,  as  I  look  upon  you,  can  I  feign 
repentance  ? 

"My  husband,  who  never  saw  Higgs,  and  knew 
nothing  about  him  except  the  too  little  that  I  told 
him,  pressed  his  suit,  and  about  a  month  after  Higgs 
had  gone,  having  recovered  my  passing  infatuation 
for  him,  I  took  kindly  to  the  Mayor  and  accepted  him, 
without  telling  him  what  I  ought  to  have  told  him 
' — but  the  words  stuck  in  my  throat.  I  had  not  been 
engaged  to  him  many  days  before  I  found  that  there 
was  something  which  I  should  not  Ije  able  to  hide 
much  longer. 

"You  know,  my  dear,  that  my  mother  had  been 
long  dead,  and  I  never  had  a  sister  or  any  near  kins- 
woman. At  my  wits'  end  who  I  should  consult,  in- 
stinct drew  me  to  Mrs.  Humdrum,  then  a  woman  of 
about  fivc-and- forty.  She  was  a  grand  lady,  while  I 
was  about  the  rank  of  one  of  my  own  housemaids.  I 
had  no  claim  on  her ;  I  went  to  her  as  a  lost  dog  looks 
into  the  faces  of  people  on  a  road,  and  singles  out  the 
one  who  will  most  surely  help  him.  T  had  had  a  good 
look  at  her  once  as  she  was  putting  on  her  gloves,  and 
I  liked  the  way  she  did  it.     I  marvel  at  my  own  bold- 


98 


Erewhon  Revisited 


ness.  At  any  rate,  I  asked  to  see  her,  and  told  her 
my  story  exactly  as  I  have  now  told  it  to  you. 

"'You  have  no  mother?'  she  said,  when  she  had 
heard  all. 

"  'No.' 

"  'Then,  my  dear,  I  will  mother  you  myself.  Higgs 
is  out  of  the  question,  so  Strong  must  marry  you  at 
once.  We  will  tell  him  everything,  and  I,  on  your 
behalf,  will  insist  upon  it  that  the  engagement  is  at  an 
end.  I  hear  good  reports  of  him,  and  if  we  are  fair 
towards  him  he  will  be  generous  towards  us.  Besides, 
I  believe  he  is  so  much  in  love  with  you  that  he  would 
sell  his  soul  to  get  you.  Send  him  to  me.  I  can  deal 
with  him  better  than  you  can.' " 

"And  what,"  said  George,  "did  my  father,  as  I  shall 
always  call  him,  say  to  all  this?" 

"Truth  bred  chivalry  in  him  at  once.  'I  will  marry 
her,'  he  said,  with  hardly  a  moment's  hesitation,  'but 
it  will  be  better  that  I  should  not  be  put  on  any  lower 
footing  than  Higgs  was.  I  ought  not  to  be  denied 
anything  that  has  been  allowed  to  him.  If  I  am 
trusted,  I  can  trust  myself  to  trust  and  think  no  evil 
either  of  Higgs  or  her.  They  were  pestered  beyond 
endurance,  as  I  have  been  ere  now.  If  I  am  held  at 
arm's  length  till  I  am  fast  bound,  I  shall  marry  Yram 
just  the  same,  but  I  doubt  whether  she  and  I  shall 
ever  be  quite  happy.' 

I  "  'Come  to  my  house  this  evening,'  said  Mrs.  Hum- 
drum, 'and  you  will  find  Yram  there.'  He  came,  he 
found  me,  and  within  a  fortnight  we  were  man  and 
wife." 

J  "How  much  does  not  all  this  explain,"  said  George, 
smiling  but  very  gravely.   "And  you  are  going  to  ask 


Yram  and  Her  Son  99 

me  to  forgive  you  for  robbing  me  of  such  a  father." 
"He  has  forgiven  me,  my  dear,  for  robbing  him 
of  such  a  son.  He  never  reproached  me.  From  that 
day  to  this  he  has  never  given  me  a  harsh  word  or 
even  syllable.  When  you  were  born  he  took  to  you 
at  once,  as,  indeed,  who  could  help  doing?  for  you 
were  the  sweetest  child  both  in  looks  and  temper  that 
it  is  pKDSsible  to  conceive.  Your  having  light  hair  and 
eyes  made  things  more  difficult;  for  this,  and  your 
being  born,  almost  to  the  day,  nine  months  after  Higgs 
had  left  us,  made  people  talk — but  your  father  kept 
their  tongues  within  bounds.  They  talk  still,  but  they 
liked  what  little  they  saw  of  Higgs,  they  like  the 
Mayor  and  me,  and  they  like  you  the  best  of  all;  so 
they  please  themselves  by  having  the  thing  both  ways. 
Though,  therefore,  you  are  son  to  the  Mayor,  Higgs 
cast  some  miraculous  spell  upon  me  before  he  left, 
whereby  my  son  should  be  in  some  measure  his  as 
well  as  the  Mayor's.  It  was  this  miraculous  spell  that 
caused  you  to  be  born  two  months  too  soon,  and  we 
called  you  by  Higgs's  first  name  as  though  to  show 
that  we  took  that  view  of  the  matter  ourselves. 

"Mrs.  Humdrum,  however,  was  very  positive  that 
there  was  no  spell  at  all.  She  had  repeatedly  heard 
her  father  say  that  the  Mayor's  grandfather  was  light- 
haired  and  blue-eyed,  and  that  every  third  generation 
in  that  family  a  light-haired  son  was  born.  The  peo- 
ple believe  this  too.  Nobody  disbelieves  Mrs.  Hum- 
drum, but  they  like  the  miracle  best,  so  that  is  how 
it  has  been  settled. 

"I  never  knew  whether  Mrs.  Humdrum  told  her 
husband,  but  I  think  she  must ;  for  a  place  was  found 
almost   immediately   for  my   husband   in   Mr.    Hum- 


100  Erewhon  Revisited 

drum's  business.  He  made  himself  useful;  after  a 
few  years  he  was  taken  into  partnership,  and  on  Mr. 
Humdrum's  death  became  head  of  the  firm.  Between 
ourselves,  he  says  laughingly  that  all  his  success  in 
life  was  due  to  Higgs  and  me." 

I  "I  shall  give  Mrs.  Humdrum  a  double  dose  of  kiss- 
ing," said  George  thoughtfully,  "next  time  I  see  her." 

"Oh,  do,  do;  she  will  so  like  it.  And  now,  my 
darling  boy,  tell  your  poor  mother  whether  or  no  you 
can  forgive  her." 

He  clasped  her  in  his  arms  and  kissed  her  again 
and  again,  but  for  a  time  he  could  find  no  utterance. 
Presently  he  smiled,  and  said,  "Of  course  I  do,  but 
it  is  you  who  should  forgive  me,  for  was  it  not  all 
my  fault?" 

When  Yram,  too,  had  become  more  calm,  she  said, 
"It  is  late,  and  we  have  no  time  to  lose.  Higgs's 
coming  at  this  time  is  mere  accident;  if  he  had  had 
news  from  Erewhon  he  would  have  known  much  that 
he  did  not  know.  I  cannot  guess  why  he  has  come — 
probably  through  mere  curiosity,  but  he  will  hear  or 
have  heard — yes,  you  and  he  talked  about  it — of  the 
temple ;  being  here,  he  will  want  to  see  the  dedication. 
From  what  you  have  told  me  I  feel  sure  that  he  will 
not  make  a  fool  of  himself  by  saying  who  he  is,  but  in 
spite  of  his  disguise  he  may  be  recognised.  I  do  not 
doubt  that  he  is  now  in  Sunch'ston ;  therefore,  to-mor- 
row morning  scour  the  town  to  find  him.  Tell  him  he 
is  discovered,  tell  him  you  know  from  me  that  he  is 
your  father,  and  that  I  wish  to  see  him  with  all  good- 
will towards  him.  He  will  come.  We  will  then  talk 
to  him,  and  show  him  that  he  must  go  back  at  once. 
You  can  escort  him  to  the  statues ;  after  passing  them 


Yram  and  Her  Son  loi 

he  will  be  safe.  He  will  give  you  no  trouble,  but  if 
he  does,  arrest  him  on  a  charge  of  poaching,  and 
take  him  to  the  gaol,  where  we  must  do  the  best  we 
can  with  him — but  he  will  give  you  none.  We  need 
say  nothing  to  the  Professors.  No  one  but  ourselves 
will  know  of  his  having  been  here." 

On  this  she  again  embraced  her  son  and  left  him. 
If  two  photographs  could  have  been  taken  of  her, 
one  as  she  opened  the  door  and  looked  fondly  back 
on  George,  and  the  other  as  she  closed  it  behind  her, 
the  second  portrait  would  have  seemed  taken  ten 
years  later  than  the  first. 

As  for  George,  he  went  gravely  but  not  unhappily 
to  his  own  room.  "So  that  ready,  plausible  fellow," 
he  muttered  to  himself,  "was  my  own  father.  At  any 
rate,  I  am  not  son  to  a  fool — and  he  hked  me." 


LIBRARY 
UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA 

RIVERSIDE 


CHAPTER  X 

MY  FATHER,  FEARING  RECOGNITION  AT  SUNCH^STON, 
BETAKES  HIMSELF  TO  THE  NEIGHBOURING  TOWN 
OF  FAIRMEAD. 

I  WILL  now  return  to  my  father.  Whether  from 
fatigue  or  over-excitement,  he  slept  only  by  fits  and 
starts,  and  when  awake  he  could  not  rid  himself  of 
the  idea  that,  in  spite  of  his  disguise,  he  might  be 
recognised,  either  at  his  inn  or  in  the  town,  by  some 
one  of  the  many  who  had  seen  him  when  he  was  in 
prison.  In  this  case  there  was  no  knowing  what 
might  happen,  but  at  best  discovery  would  probably 
prevent  his  seeing  the  temple  dedicated  to  himself, 
and  hearing  Professor  Hanky's  sermon,  which  he  was 
particularly  anxious  to  do. 

So  strongly  did  he  feel  the  real  or  fancied  danger 
he  should  incur  by  spending  Saturday  in  Sunch'ston, 
that  he  rose  as  soon  as  he  heard  any  one  stirring,  and 
having  paid  his  bill,  walked  quietly  out  of  the  house, 
without  saying  where  he  was  going. 

There  was  a  town  about  ten  miles  off,  not  so  im- 
portant as  Sunch'ston,  but  having  some  10,000  in- 
habitants; he  resolved  to  find  accommodation  there 
for  the  day  and  night,  and  to  walk  over  to  Sunch'ston 
in  time  for  the  dedication  ceremony,  which  he  had 
found,  on  inquiry,  would  begin  at  eleven  o'clock. 

The  country  between  Sunch'ston  and  Fairmead,  as 
102 


Flight  to  Fairmead  103 

the  town  just  referred  to  was  named,  was  still  moun- 
tainous, and  being  well  wooded  as  well  as  well  watered, 
abounded  in  views  of  singular  beauty;  but  I  have  no 
time  to  dwell  on  the  enthusiasm  with  which  my  father 
described  them  to  me.  The  road  took  him  at  right 
angles  to  the  main  road  down  the  valley  from  Sunch'- 
ston  to  the  capital,  and  this  was  one  reason  why  he 
had  chosen  Fairmead  rather  than  Clearwater,  which 
was  the  next  town  lower  down  on  the  main  road.  He 
did  not,  indeed,  anticipate  that  any  one  would  want 
to  find  him,  but  whoever  might  so  want  would  be 
more  likely  to  go  straight  down  the  valley  than  to 
turn  aside  towards  Fairmead. 

On  reaching  this  place,  he  found  it  pretty  full  of 
people,  for  Saturday  was  market-day.  There  was 
a  considerable  open  space  in  the  middle  of  the  town, 
with  an  arcade  running  round  three  sides  of  it,  while 
the  fourth  was  completely  taken  up  by  the  venerable 
Musical  Bank  of  the  city,  a  building  which  had 
weathered  the  storms  of  more  than  five  centuries.  On 
the  outside  of  the  wall,  abutting  on  the  market-place, 
were  three  wooden  sedilia,  in  which  the  Mayor  and 
two  coadjutors  sate  weekly  on  market-days  to  give 
advice,  redress  grievances,  and,  if  necessary  (which 
it  very  seldom  was)  to  administer  correction. 

My  father  was  much  interested  in  watching  the 
proceedings  in  a  case  which  he  found  on  inquiry  to 
be  not  infrcf|ucnt.  A  man  was  complaining  to  the 
Mayor  that  his  daughter,  a  lovely  child  of  eight  years 
old,  had  none  of  the  faults  common  to  children  of  her 
age,  and,  in  fact,  seemed  absolutely  deficient  in  im- 
moral sense.  She  never  told  lies,  had  never  stolen 
so  much  as  a  lollipop,  never  showed  any  recalcitrancy 


104  Erewhon  Revisited 

about  saying  her  prayers,  and  by  her  incessant  obedi- 
ence had  filled  her  poor  father  and  mother  with  the 
gravest  anxiety  as  regards  her  future  well-being.  He 
feared  it  would  be  necessary  to  send  her  to  a  de- 
formatory. 

"I  have  generally  found,"  said  the  Mayor,  gravely 
but  kindly,  "that  the  fault  in  these  distressing  cases 
lies  rather  with  the  parent  than  the  children.  Does 
the  child  never  break  anything  by  accident?" 

"Yes,"  said  the  father. 

"And  you  have  duly  punished  her  for  it?" 

"Alas !  sir,  I  fear  I  only  told  her  she  was  a  naughty 
girl,  and  must  not  do  it  again." 

"Then  how  can  you  expect  your  child  to  learn  those 
petty  arts  of  deception  without  which  she  must  fall 
an  easy  prey  to  any  one  who  wishes  to  deceive  her? 
How  can  she  detect  lying  in  other  people  unless  she 
has  had  some  experience  of  it  in  her  own  practice? 
How,  again,  can  she  learn  when  it  will  be  well  for  her 
to  lie,  and  when  to  refrain  from  doing  so,  unless  she 
has  made  many  a  mistake  on  a  small  scale  while  at  an 
age  when  mistakes  do  not  greatly  matter?  The  Sun- 
child  (and  here  he  reverently  raised  his  hat),  as  you 
may  read  in  chapter  thirty-one  of  his  Sayings,  has 
left  us  a  touching  tale  of  a  little  boy,  who,  having 
cut  down  an  apple  tree  in  his  father's  garden,  lamented 
his  inability  to  tell  a  lie.  Some  commentators,  in- 
deed, have  held  that  the  evidence  was  so  strongly 
against  the  boy  that  no  lie  would  have  been  of  any 
use  to  him,  and  that  his  perception  of  this  fact  was 
all  that  he  intended  to  convey ;  but  the  best  authorities 
take  his  simple  words,  'I  cannot  tell  a  lie,'  in  their 
most  natural  sense,  as  being  his  expression  of  regret 


Flight  to  Fairmead  105 

at  the  way  in  which  his  education  had  been  neglected. 
If  that  case  had  come  before  me,  I  should  have  pun- 
ished the  boy's  father,  unless  he  could  show  that  the 
best  authorities  are  mistaken  (as  indeed  they  too 
generally  are),  and  that  under  more  favourable  cir- 
cumstances the  boy  would  have  been  able  to  lie,  and 
would  have  lied  accordingly. 

"There  is  no  occasion  for  you  to  send  your  child 
to  a  deformatory.  I  am  always  averse  to  extreme 
measures  when  I  can  avoid  them.  Moreover,  in  a 
deformatory  she  would  be  almost  certain  to  fall  in 
with  characters  as  intractable  as  her  own.  Take  her 
home  and  whip  her  next  time  she  so  much  as  pulls 
about  the  salt.  If  you  will  do  this  whenever  you  get 
a  chance,  I  have  every  hope  that  you  will  have  no 
occasion  to  come  to  me  again." 

"Very  well,  sir,"  said  the  father,  "I  will  do  my 
best,  but  the  child  is  so  instinctively  truthful  that  I 
am  afraid  whipping  will  be  of  little  use." 

There  were  dther  cases,  none  of  them  serious, 
which  in  the  old  days  would  have  been  treated  by  a 
straightencr.  My  father  had  already  surmised  that 
the  straightener  had  become  extinct  as  a  class,  having 
been  superseded  by  the  Managers  and  Cashiers  of  the 
Musical  Banks,  but  this  became  more  apparent  as  he 
listened  to  the  cases  that  next  came  on.  These  were 
dealt  with  quite  reasonably,  except  that  the  magistrate 
always  ordered  an  emetic  and  a  strong  purge  in  ad- 
dition to  the  rest  of  his  sentence,  as  hokling  that  all 
diseases  of  the  moral  sense  spring  from  impurities 
within  the  body,  which  must  be  cleansed  before  there 
could  be  any  hope  of  spiritual  improvement.  If  any 
devils  were  found  in  what  passed  from  the  prisoner's 


io6  Erewhon  Revisited 

body,  he  was  to  be  brought  up  again ;  for  in  this  case 
the  rest  of  the  sentence  might  very  possibly  be  re- 
mitted. 

When  the  Mayor  and  his  coadjutors  had  done 
sitting,  my  father  strolled  round  the  Musical  Bank 
and  entered  it  by  the  main  entrance,  which  was  on 
the  top  of  a  flight  of  steps  that  went  down  on  to  the 
principal  street  of  the  town.  How  strange  it  is  that, 
no  matter  how  gross  a  superstition  may  have  polluted 
it,  a  holy  place,  if  hallowed  by  long  veneration,  re- 
mains always  holy.  Look  at  Delphi.  What  a  fraud 
it  was,  and  yet  how  hallowed  it  must  ever  remain. 
But  letting  this  pass.  Musical  Banks,  especially  when 
of  great  age,  always  fascinated  my  father,  and  being 
now  tired  with  his  walk,  he  sat  down  on  one  of  the 
many  rush-bottomed  seats,  and  (for  there  was  no 
service  at  this  hour)  gave  free  rein  to  meditation. 

How  peaceful  it  all  was  with  its  droning  old-world 
smell  of  ancestor,  dry  rot,  and  stale  incense.  As  the 
clouds  came  and  went,  the  grey-green,  cobweb-chas- 
tened, light  ebbed  and  flowed  over  the  walls  and  ceiling ; 
to  watch  the  fit  fulness  of  its  streams  was  a  sufficient 
occupation.  A  hen  laid  an  egg  outside  and  began 
to  cackle — it  was  an  event  of  magnitude;  a  peas- 
ant sharpening  his  scythe,  a  blacksmith  hammering 
at  his  anvil,  the  clack  of  a  wooden  shoe  upon  the 
pavement,  the  boom  of  a  bumble-bee,  the  dripping  of 
the  fountain,  all  these  things,  with  such  concert  as 
they  kept,  invited  the  dewy- feathered  sleep  that  visited 
him,  and  held  him  for  the  best  part  of  an  hour. 

My  father  has  said  that  the  Erewhonians  never 
put  up  monuments  or  write  epitaphs  for  their  dead, 
and  this  he  believed  to  be  still  true;  but  it  was  not 


Flight  to  Fairmead  107 

so  always,  and  on  waking  his  eye  was  caught  by  a 
monument  of  great  beauty,  which  bore  a  date  of  about 
1550  of  our  era.  It  was  to  an  old  lady,  who  must 
have  been  very  loveable  if  the  sweet  smiling  face  of 
her  recumbent  figure  was  as  faithful  to  the  original 
as  its  strongly  marked  individuality  suggested.  I  need 
not  give  the  earlier  part  of  her  epitaph,  which  was 
conventional  enough,  but  my  father  was  so  struck  with 
the  concluding  lines,  that  he  copied  them  into  the  note- 
book which  he  always  carried  in  his  pocket.  They 
ran: — 

I  fall  asleep  in  the  full  and  certain  hope 
That  my  slumber  shall  not  be  broken; 
And   that   though   I   be   all-forgetting, 
Yet  shall  I   not  be  all-forgotten, 
But  continue  that  life  in  the  thoughts  and  deeds 
Of  those  I  loved, 
Into  which,  while  the  power  to  strive  was  yet  vouchsafed  me, 
I  fondly  strove  to  enter. 

My  father  deplored  his  inability  to  do  justice  to 
the  subtle  tenderness  of  the  original,  but  the  above 
was  the  nearest  he  could  get  to  it. 

How  different  this  from  the  opinions  concerning 
a  future  state  which  he  had  tried  to  set  before  the 
Erewhonians  some  twenty  years  earlier.  It  all  came 
back  to  him,  as  the  storks  had  done,  now  that  he  was 
again  in  an  Iircwhonian  environment,  and  he  par- 
ticularly remembered  how  one  youth  had  inveighed 
against  our  European  notions  of  heaven  and  hell  with 
a  contemptuous  flippancy  that  nothing  hut  youth  and 
ignorance  could  even  palliate. 

"Sir,"  he  had  said  to  my  father,  "your  heaven  will 
not  attract  me  unless  1  can  take  niv  clothes  and  my 


io8  Erewhon  Revisited 

luggage.  Yes;  and  I  must  lose  my  luggage  and  find 
it  again.  On  arriving,  I  must  be  told  that  it  has  un- 
fortunately been  taken  to  a  wrong  circle,  and  that 
there  may  be  some  difficulty  in  recovering  it — or  it 
shall  have  been  sent  up  to  a  mansion  number  five  hun- 
dred thousand  millions  nine  hundred  thousand  forty 
six  thousand  eight  hundred  and  eleven,  whereas  it 
should  have  gone  to  four  hundred  thousand  millions, 
&c.,  &c. ;  and  am  I  sure  that  I  addressed  it  rightly? 
Then,  when  I  am  just  getting  cross  enough  to  run 
some  risk  of  being  turned  out,  the  luggage  shall  make 
its  appearance,  hat-box,  umbrella,  rug,  golf -sticks, 
bicycle  and  everything  else  all  quite  correct  and  in 
my  delight  I  shall  tip  the  angel  double  and  realise  that 
I  am  enjoying  myself. 

"Or  I  must  have  asked  what  I  could  have  for  break- 
fast, and  be  told  I  could  have  boiled  eggs,  or  eggs 
and  bacon,  or  filleted  plaice.  'Filleted  plaice,'  I  shall 
exclaim,  'no!  not  that.  Have  you  any  red  mullets?' 
And  the  angel  will  say,  'Why  no,  sir,  the  gulf  has 
been  so  rough  that  there  has  hardly  any  fish  come  in 
this  three  days,  and  there  has  been  such  a  run  on  it 
that  we  have  nothing  left  but  plaice.' 

"  'Well,  well,'  I  shall  say,  'have  you  any  kidneys?' 

"  'You  can  have  one  kidney,  sir,'  will  be  the  an- 
swer. 

"  'One  kidney,  indeed,  and  you  call  this  heaven !  At 
any  rate  you  will  have  sausages?' 

"Then  the  angel  will  say,  'We  shall  have  some  after 
Sunday,  sir,  but  we  are  quite  out  of  them  at  pres- 
ent.' 

"And  I  shall  say,  somewhat  sulkily,  'Then  I  sup- 
pose I  must  have  eggs  and  bacon.' 


Flight  to  Fairmead  109 

"But  in  the  morning  there  will  come  up  a  red 
mullet,  beautifully  cooked,  a  couple  of  kidneys  and 
three  sausages  browned  to  a  turn,  and  seasoned  with 
just  so  much  sage  and  thyme  as  will  savour  without 
overwhelming  them ;  and  I  shall  eat  everything.  It 
shall  then  transpire  that  the  angel  knew  about  the 
luggage,  and  what  I  was  to  have  for  breakfast,  all  the 
time,  but  wanted  to  give  me  the  pleasure  of  finding 
things  turn  out  better  than  I  had  expected.  Heaven 
would  be  a  dull  place  without  such  occasional  petty 
false  alarms  as  these." 

I  have  no  business  to  leave  my  father's  story,  but 
the  mouth  of  the  ox  that  treadeth  out  the  corn  should 
not  be  so  closely  muzzled  that  he  cannot  sometimes 
filch  a  mouthful  for  himself;  and  when  I  had  copied 
out  the  foregoing  somewhat  irreverent  paragraphs, 
which  I  took  down  (with  no  important  addition  or 
alteration)  from  my  father's  lips,  I  could  not  refrain 
from  making  a  few  reflections  of  my  own,  which  I 
will  ask  the  reader's  forbearance  if  I  lay  before  him. 

Let  heaven  and  hell  alone,  but  think  of  Hades, 
with  Tantalus,  Sisyphus,  Tityiis,  and  all  the  rest  of 
them.  How  futile  were  the  attempts  of  the  old  Greeks 
and  Romans  to  lay  before  us  any  plausible  concep- 
tion of  eternal  t(jrturc.  W'hat  were  the  Danaids  do- 
ing but  that  which  each  one  of  us  has  to  do  during 
his  or  her  whole  life?  What  are  our  bodies  if  not 
sieves  that  we  arc  for  ever  trying  to  fill,  but  which 
we  must  refill  continually  without  hope  of  being  able 
to  keep  them  full  for  long  together?  Do  we  mind 
this?  Not  so  long  as  we  can  get  the  wherewithal 
to  fill  them ;  and  the  Danaids  never  seem  to  have  run 
short  of  water.     They  would  probably  ere  long  take 


no  Erewhon  Revisited 

to  clearing  out  any  obstruction  in  their  sieves  if  they 
found  them  getting  choked.  What  could  it  matter 
to  them  whether  the  sieves  got  full  or  no  ?  They  were 
not  paid  for  filling  them. 

Sisyphus,  again !  Can  any  one  believe  that  he  would 
go  on  rolling  that  stone  year  after  year  and  seeing 
it  roll  down  again  unless  he  liked  seeing  it?  We  are 
not  told  that  there  was  a  dragon  which  attacked  him 
whenever  he  tried  to  shirk.  If  he  had  greatly  cared 
about  getting  his  load  over  the  last  pinch,  experi- 
ence would  have  shown  him  some  way  of  doing  so. 
The  probability  is  that  he  got  to  enjoy  the  downward 
rush  of  his  stone,  and  very  likely  amused  himself  by 
so  timing  it  as  to  cause  the  greatest  scare  to  the  great- 
est number  of  the  shades  that  were  below. 

What  though  Tantalus  found  the  water  shun  him 
and  the  fruits  fly  from  him  when  he  tried  to  seize 
them?  The  writer  of  the  "Odyssey"  gives  us  no  hint 
that  he  was  dying  of  thirst  or  hunger.  The  pores 
of  his  skin  would  absorb  enough  water  to  prevent  the 
first,  and  we  may  be  sure  that  he  got  fruit  enough, 
one  way  or  another,  to  keep  him  going. 

Tityus,  as  an  effort  after  the  conception  of  an 
eternity  of  torture,  is  not  successful.  What  could  an 
eagle  matter  on  the  liver  of  a  man  whose  body  covered 
nine  acres?  Before  long  he  would  find  it  an  agree- 
able stimulant.  If,  then,  the  greatest  minds  of 
antiquity  could  invent  nothing  that  should  carry  bet- 
ter conviction  of  eternal  torture,  is  it  likely  that  the 
conviction  can  be  carried  at  all  ? 

Methought  I  saw  Jove  sitting  on  the  topmost  ridges 
of  Olympus  and  confessing  failure  to  Minerva.  "I 
see,  my  dear,"  he  said,  "that  there  is  no  use  in  trying 


Flight  to  Fairmead  iii 

to  make  people  very  happy  or  very  miserable  for  long 
together.  Pain,  if  it  does  not  soon  kill,  consists  not 
so  much  in  present  suffering  as  in  the  still  recent  mem- 
ory of  a  time  when  there  was  less,  and  in  the  fear 
that  there  will  soon  be  more;  and  so  happiness  lies 
less  in  immediate  pleasure  than  in  lively  recollection 
of  a  worse  time  and  lively  hope  of  better." 

As  for  the  young  gentleman  above  referred  to,  my 
father  met  him  with  the  assurance  that  there  had 
been  several  cases  in  which  living  people  had  been 
caught  up  into  heaven  or  carried  down  into  hell,  and 
been  allowed  to  return  to  earth  and  report  what  they 
had  seen ;  while  to  others  visions  had  been  vouchsafed 
so  clearly  that  thousands  of  authentic  pictures  had 
been  painted  of  both  states.  All  incentive  to  good 
conduct,  he  had  then  alleged,  was  found  to  be  at  once 
removed  from  those  who  doubted  the  fidelity  of  these 
pictures. 

This  at  least  was  what  he  had  then  said,  but  I 
hardly  think  he  would  have  said  it  at  the  time  of 
which  I  am  now  writing.  As  he  continued  to  sit  in 
the  Musical  Bank,  he  took  from  his  valise  the  pamphlet 
on  "The  Physics  of  Vicarious  Existence,"  by  Dr. 
Gurgoyle,  which  he  had  bought  on  the  preceding  eve- 
ning, doubtless  being  led  to  choose  this  particular 
work  by  the  tenor  of  the  old  lady's  epitaph. 

The  .second  title  he  found  to  run,  "Being  Strictures 
on  Certain  Heresies  concerning  a  Future  State  that 
have  been  Engrafted  on  the  Sunchild's  Teaching." 

My  father  shudrlcrcd  as  he  read  this  title.  "How 
long,"  he  said  to  himself,  "will  it  be  before  they  are 
at  one  another's  throats?" 

On  reading  the  pamphlet,  he  found  it  added  little 


112  Erewhon  Revisited 

to  what  the  epitaph  had  already  conveyed ;  but  it  in- 
terested him,  as  showing  that,  however  cataclysmic  a 
change  of  national  opinions  may  appear  to  be,  people 
will  find  means  of  bringing  the  new  into  more  or  less 
conformity  with  the  old. 

Here  it  is  a  mere  truism  to  say  that  many  continue 
to  live  a  vicarious  hfe  long  after  they  have  ceased  to 
be  aware  of  living.  This  view  is  as  old  as  the  non 
omnis  moriar  of  Horace,  and  we  may  be  sure  some 
thousands  of  years  older.  It  is  only,  therefore,  with 
much  diffidence  that  I  have  decided  to  give  a  resume 
of  opinions  many  of  which  those  whom  I  alone  wish 
to  please  will  have  laid  to  heart  from  their  youth  up- 
wards. In  brief.  Dr.  Gurgoyle's  contention  comes 
to  little  more  than  saying  that  the  quick  are  more 
dead,  and  the  dead  more  quick,  than  we  commonly 
think.  To  be  alive,  according  to  him,  is  only  to  be 
unable  to  understand  how  dead  one  is,  and  to  be 
dead  is  only  to  be  invincibly  ignorant  concerning  our 
own  livingness — for  the  dead  would  be  as  living  as 
the  living  if  we  could  only  get  them  to  believe  it. 


CHAPTER  XI 

PRESIDENT    GURGOYLE's    PAMPHLET    "ON    THE   PHYSICS 
OF  VICARIOUS  existence" 

Belief,  like  any  other  moving  body,  follows  the 
path  of  least  resistance,  and  this  path  had  led  Dr. 
Gurgoyle  to  the  conviction,  real  or  feigned,  that  my 
father  was  son  to  the  sun,  probably  by  the  moon, 
and  that  his  ascent  into  the  sky  with  an  earthly  bride 
was  due  to  the  sun's  interference  with  the  laws  of 
nature.  Nevertheless  he  was  looked  upon  as  more 
or  less  of  a  sun^ival,  and  was  deemed  lukewarm,  if 
not  heretical,  by  those  who  seemed  to  be  the  pillars  of 
the  new  system. 

My  father  soon  found  that  not  even  Panky  could 
manipulate  his  teaching  more  freely  than  the  Doctor 
had  done.  My  father  had  taught  that  when  a  man 
was  dead  there  was  an  end  of  him,  until  he  should 
rise  again  in  the  flesh  at  the  last  day,  to  enter  into 
eternity  either  of  happiness  or  misery.  He  had,  in- 
deed, often  talked  of  the  immortality  which  some 
achieve  even  in  this  world  ;  but  he  had  cheapened  this, 
declaring  it  to  be  an  unsubstantial  mockery,  that  could 
give  no  such  comfort  in  the  hour  of  death  as  was 
unquestionably  given  by  liclicf  in  heaven  and  hell. 

Dr.  Gurgoyle,  however,  had  an  equal  horror,  on 
the  one  hand,  of  anything  involving  resumption  of 
life  by  the  body  when  it  was  once  dead  and  on  the 

113 


114  Erewhon  Revisited 

other  of  the  view  that  Hfe  ended  with  the  change 
which  we  call  death.  He  did  not,  indeed,  pretend 
that  he  could  do  much  to  take  away  the  sting  from 
death,  nor  would  he  do  this  if  he  could,  for  if  men 
did  not  fear  death  unduly,  they  would  often  court  it 
unduly.  Death  can  only  be  belauded  at  the  cost  of  be- 
littling life;  but  he  held  that  a  reasonable  assurance 
of  fair  fame  after  death  is  a  truer  consolation  to  the 
dying,  a  truer  comfort  to  surviving  friends,  and  a 
more  real  incentive  to  good  conduct  in  this  life,  than 
any  of  the  consolations  or  incentives  falsely  fathered 
upon  the  Sunchild. 

He  began  by  setting  aside  every  saying  ascribed, 
however  truly,  to  my  father,  if  it  made  against  his 
views,  and  by  putting  his  own  glosses  on  all  that  he 
could  gloze  into  an  appearance  of  being  in  his  favour. 
I  will  pass  over  his  attempt  to  combat  the  rapidly 
spreading  belief  in  a  heaven  and  hell  such  as  we  accept 
and  will  only  summarise  his  contention  that,  of  our 
two  lives — namely,  the  one  we  live  in  our  own  persons, 
and  that  other  life  which  we  live  in  other  people  both 
before  our  reputed  death  and  after  it — the  second  is 
as  essential  a  factor  of  our  complete  life  as  the  first  is, 
and  sometimes  more  so. 

Life,  he  urged,  lies  not  in  bodily  organs,  but  in 
the  power  to  use  them,  and  in  the  use  that  is  made 
of  them — that  is  to  say,  in  the  work  they  do.  As 
the  essence  of  a  factory  is  not  in  the  building  wherein 
the  work  is  done  nor  yet  in  the  implements  used  in 
turning  it  out,  but  in  the  will-power  of  the  master  and 
in  the  goods  he  makes;  so  the  true  life  of  a  man  is  in 
his  will  and  work,  not  in  his  body.  "Those,"  he 
argued,  "who  make  the  life  of  a  man  reside  within  his 


Vicarious  Existence  115 

body,  are  like  one  who  should  mistake  the  carpenter's 
tool-box  for  the  carpenter.'' 

He  maintained  that  this  had  been  my  father's  teach- 
ing, for  which  my  father  heartily  trusts  that  he  may 
be  forgiven. 

He  went  on  to  say  that  our  will-power  is  not  wholly 
limited  to  the  working  of  its  own  special  system  of 
organs,  but  under  certain  conditions  can  work  and 
be  worked  upon  by  other  will-powers  like  itself :  so 
that  if,  for  example,  A's  will-power  has  got  such  hold 
on  B's  as  to  be  able,  through  B,  to  work  B's  mechan- 
ism, what  seems  to  have  been  B's  action  will  in  reality 
have  been  more  A's  than  B's  and  this  in  the  same  real 
sense  as  though  the  physical  action  had  been  effected 
through  A's  own  mechanical  system — A,  in  fact,  will 
have  been  living  in  B.  The  universally  admitted 
maxim  that  he  who  does  this  or  that  by  the  hand  of 
an  agent  does  it  himself,  shews  that  the  foregoing 
view  is  only  a  roimdabout  way  of  stating  what  com- 
mon sense  treats  as  a  matter  of  course. 

Hence,  though  A's  individual  will-power  must  be 
held  to  cease  when  the  tools  it  works  with  are  des- 
troyed or  out  of  gear,  yet,  so  long  as  any  survivors 
were  so  possessed  by  it  while  it  was  still  efhcient,  or, 
again,  become  so  impressed  by  its  operation  on  them 
through  work  that  he  has  left  as  to  act  in  obedience  to 
his  will-power  rather  than  their  own,  A  has  a  certain 
amount  of  bona  fide  life  still  remaining.  His  vicarious 
life  is  not  affected  by  the  dissolution  of  his  body;  and 
in  many  cases  the  sum  total  of  a  man's  vicarious  ac- 
tion and  of  its  outcome  exceeds  to  an  almost  infinite 
extent  the  sum  total  of  thfjsc  actions  and  works  that 
were    effected    throujrh    the   mechanism    of    his    own 


Ii6  Erewhon  Revisited 

physical  organs.  In  these  cases  his  vicarious  Hfe  is 
more  truly  his  hfe  than  any  that  he  hved  in  his  own 
person. 

"True,"  continued  the  Doctor,  "while  living  in  his 
own  person,  a  man  knows,  or  thinks  he  knows,  what 
he  is  doing,  whereas  we  have  no  reason  to  suppose 
such  knowledge  on  the  part  of  one  whose  body  is  al- 
ready dust;  but  the  consciousness  of  the  doer  has  less 
to  do  with  the  livingness  of  the  deed  than  people  gen- 
erally admit.  We  know  nothing  of  the  power  that 
sets  our  heart  beating,  nor  yet  of  the  beating  itself 
so  long  as  it  is  normal.  We  know  nothing  of  our 
breathing  or  of  our  digestion,  of  the  all-important 
work  we  achieved  as  embryos,  nor  of  our  growth  from 
infancy  to  manhood.  No  one  will  say  that  these  were 
not  actions  of  a  living  agent,  but  the  more  normal, 
the  healthier,  and  thus  the  more  truly  living,  the  agent 
is,  the  less  he  will  know  or  have  known  of  his  own  ac- 
tion. The  part  of  our  bodily  life  that  enters  into  our 
consciousness  is  very  small  as  compared  with  that  of 
which  we  have  no  consciousness.  What  completer 
proof  can  we  have  that  livingness  consists  in  deed 
rather  than  in  consciousness  of  deed? 

"The  foregoing  remarks  are  not  intended  to  ap- 
ply so  much  to  vicarious  action  in  virtue,  we  will  say, 
of  a  settlement,  or  testamentary  disposition  that  can- 
not be  set  aside.  Such  action  is  apt  to  be  too  unin- 
telligent, too  far  from  variation  and  quick  change  to 
rank  as  true  vicarious  action;  indeed  it  is  not  rarely 
found  to  effect  the  very  opposite  of  what  the  person 
who  made  the  settlement  or  will  desired.  They  are 
meant  to  apply  to  that  more  intelligent  and  versatile 
action     engendered     by     affectionate     remembrance. 


Vicarious  Existence  117 

Nevertheless,  even  the  compulsory  vicarious  action 
taken  in  consequence  of  a  will,  and  indeed  the  very 
name  "will"  itself,  shews  that  though  we  cannot  take 
either  flesh  or  money  with  us,  we  can  leave  our  will- 
power behind  us  in  very  efficient  operation. 

"This  vicarious  life  (on  which  I  have  insisted,  I 
fear  at  unnecessary  length,  for  it  is  so  obvious  that 
none  can  have  failed  to  realise  it)  is  lived  by  every- 
one of  us  before  death  as  well  as  after  it,  and  is  little 
less  important  to  us  than  that  of  which  we  are  to 
some  extent  conscious  in  our  own  persons.  A  man, 
we  will  say,  has  written  a  book  which  delights  or  dis- 
pleases thousands  of  whom  he  knows  nothing,  and 
who  know  nothing  of  him.  The  book,  we  will  sup- 
pose, has  considerable,  or  at  any  rate  some  influence 
on  the  action  of  these  people.  Let  us  suppose  the 
writer  fast  asleep  while  others  are  enjoying  his  work, 
and  acting  in  consequence  of  it,  perhaps  at  long  dis- 
tances from  him.  Which  is  his  truest  life — the  one 
he  is  leading  in  them,  or  that  equally  unconscious 
life  residing  in  his  own  sleeping  body?  Can  there 
be  a  doubt  that  the  vicarious  life  is  the  more  efficient? 

"Or  when  we  are  waking,  how  powerfully  does  not 
the  life  we  are  living  in  others  pain  or  delight  us,  ac- 
cording as  others  think  ill  or  well  of  us?  How  truly 
do  we  not  recognise  it  as  part  of  our  own  existence, 
and  how  great  an  influence  does  not  the  fear  of  a 
present  hell  in  men's  bad  thoughts,  and  the  hope  of  a 
present  heaven  in  their  good  ones,  influence  our  own 
conduct?  Have  we  not  here  a  true  heaven  and  a  true 
hell,  as  compared  with  the  cfflciency  of  which  these 
gross  material  ones  so  falsely  engrafted  on  to  the 
Sunchild's  teaching  are  but  as  the  flint  implements  of 


Ii8  Erewhon  Revisited 

?  prehistoric  race?  'If  a  man,'  said  the  Sunchild,  'fear 
not  man,  whom  he  hath  seen,  neither  will  he  fear  God, 
whom  he  hath  not  seen.'  " 

My  father  again  assures  me  that  he  never  said  this. 
Returning  to  Dr.  Gurgoyle,  he  continued : — 

"It  may  be  urged  that  on  a  man's  death  one  of  the 
great  factors  of  his  life  is  so  annihilated  that  no  kind 
of  true  life  can  be  any  further  conceded  to  him.  For 
to  live  is  to  be  influenced,  as  well  as  to  influence;  and 
when  a  man  is  dead  how  can  he  be  influenced?  He 
can  haunt,  but  he  cannot  any  more  be  haunted.  He 
can  come  to  us,  but  we  cannot  go  to  him.  On  ceasing, 
therefore,  to  be  impressionable,  so  great  a  part  of  that 
wherein  his  life  consisted  is  removed,  that  no  true  life 
can  be  conceded  to  him. 

"I  do  not  pretend  that  a  man  is  as  fully  alive  after 
his  so-called  death  as  before  it.  He  is  not.  All  I  con- 
tend for  is  that  a  considerable  amount  of  efficient  life 
still  remains  to  some  of  us,  and  that  a  little  life  re- 
mains to  all  of  us,  after  what  we  commonly  regard 
as  the  complete  cessation  of  life.  In  answer,  then,  to 
those  who  have  just  urged  that  the  destruction  of  one 
of  the  two  great  factors  of  life  destroys  life  altogether, 
I  reply  that  the  same  must  hold  good  as  regards  death. 

"If  to  live  is  to  be  influenced  and  to  influence,  and 
if  a  man  cannot  be  held  as  living  when  he  can  no 
longer  be  influenced,  surely  to  die  is  to  be  no  longer 
able  either  to  influence  or  be  influenced,  and  a  man 
cannot  be  held  dead  until  both  these  two  factors  of 
death  are  present.  If  failure  of  the  power  to  be  in- 
fluenced vitiates  life,  presence  of  the  power  to  in- 
fluence vitiates  death.  And  no  one  will  deny  that  a  man 


Vicarious  Existence  119 

can  influence  for  many  a  long  year  after  he  is  vulgarly 
reputed  as  dead. 

"It  seems,  then,  that  there  is  no  such  thing  as  either 
absolute  life  without  any  alloy  of  death,  nor  absolute 
death  without  any  alloy  of  life,  until,  that  is  to  say, 
all  posthumous  power  to  influence  has  faded  away, 
and  this,  perhaps,  is  what  the  Sunchild  meant  by  say- 
ing that  in  the  midst  of  life  we  are  in  death,  and  so 
also  that  in  the  midst  of  death  we  are  in  life. 

"And  there  is  this,  too.  No  man  can  influence  fully 
until  he  can  no  more  be  influenced — that  is  to  say,  till 
after  his  so-called  death.  Till  then,  his  'he'  is  still 
unsettled.  We  know  not  what  other  influences  may 
not  be  brought  to  bear  upon  him  that  may  change  the 
character  of  the  influence  he  will  exert  on  ourselves. 
Therefore,  he  is  not  fully  living  till  he  is  no  longer 
living.  He  is  an  incomplete  work,  which  cannot  ha\'e 
full  effect  till  finished.  And  as  for  his  vicarious  life — 
which  we  have  seen  to  be  very  real — this  can  be,  and 
is,  influenced  by  just  appreciation,  undue  praise  or 
calumny,  and  is  subject,  it  may  be,  to  secular  vicissi- 
tudes of  good  and  evil  fortune. 

"If  this  is  not  true,  let  us  have  no  more  talk  about 
the  immortalty  of  great  men  and  women.  The  Sun- 
child  was  never  weary  of  talking  to  us  (as  we  then 
sometimes  thought,  a  little  tediously)  about  a  great 
poet  of  that  natifjn  to  which  it  pleased  him  to  feign 
that  he  belonged.  How  plainly  can  we  not  now  sec 
that  his  words  were  spoken  for  our  learning — for 
the  enforcement  of  that  true  view  of  heaven  and  hell 
on  which  I  am  feebly  trying  to  insist?  The  poet's 
name,  he  said,  was  .Shakespeare.  Whilst  he  was  alive, 
very   few   people  understood  his  greatness;  whereas 


120  Erewhon  Revisited 

now,  after  some  three  hundred  years,  he  is  deemed 
the  greatest  poet  that  the  world  has  ever  known.  'Can 
this  man,'  he  asked,  'be  said  to  have  been  truly  born 
till  many  a  long  year  after  he  had  been  reputed  as 
truly  dead?  While  he  was  in  the  flesh,  was  he  more 
than  a  mere  embryo  growing  towards  birth  into  that 
life  of  the  world  to  come  in  which  he  now  shines  so 
gloriously?  What  a  small  thing  was  that  flesh  and 
blood  life,  of  which  he  was  alone  conscious,  as  com- 
pared with  that  fleshless  life  which  he  lives  but  knows 
not  in  the  lives  of  millions,  and  which,  had  it  ever 
been  fully  revealed  even  to  his  imagination,  we  may 
be  sure  that  he  could  not  have  reached?' 

"These  were  the  Sunchild's  words,  as  repeated  to 
me  by  one  of  his  chosen  friends  while  he  was  yet 
amongst  us.  Which,  then,  of  this  man's  two  lives 
should  we  deem  best  worth  having,  if  we  could  choose 
one  or  the  other,  but  not  both?  The  felt  or  the  un- 
felt?  W^ho  would  not  go  cheerfully  to  block  or  stake 
if  he  knew  that  by  doing  so  he  could  win  such  life 
as  this  poet  lives,  though  he  also  knew  that  on  having 
won  it  he  could  know  no  more  about  it?  Does  not 
this  prove  that  in  our  heart  of  hearts  we  deem  an 
unfelt  life,  in  the  heaven  of  men's  loving  thoughts, 
to  be  better  worth  having  than  any  we  can  reasonably 
hope  for  and  still  feel  ? 

"And  the  converse  of  this  is  true;  many  a  man 
has  unhesitatingly  laid  down  his  felt  life  to  escape 
unfelt  infamy  in  the  hell  of  men's  hatred  and  con- 
tempt. As  body  is  the  sacrament,  or  outward  and 
visible  sign,  of  mind,  so  is  posterity  the  sacrament  of 
those  who  live  after  death.  Each  is  the  mechanism 
through  which  the  other  becomes  effective. 


Vicarious  Existence  121 

"I  grant  that  many  live  but  a  short  time  when  the 
breath  is  out  of  them.  Few  seeds  germinate  as  com- 
pared with  those  that  rot  or  are  eaten,  and  most  of 
this  world's  denizens  are  little  more  than  still-born 
as  regards  the  larger  life,  while  none  are  immortal  to 
the  end  of  time.  But  the  end  of  time  is  not  worth  con- 
sidering; not  a  few  live  as  many  centuries  as  either 
they  or  we  need  think  about,  and  surely  the  world,  so 
far  as  we  can  guess  its  object,  was  made  rather  to  be 
enjoyed  than  to  last.  'Come  and  go'  pervades  all 
things  of  which  we  have  knowledge,  and  if  there  was 
any  provision  made,  it  seems  to  have  been  for  a  short 
life  and  a  merry  one,  with  enough  chance  of  exten- 
sion beyond  the  grave  to  be  worth  trying  for,  rather 
than  for  the  perpetuity  even  of  the  best  and  noblest. 

"Granted,  again,  that  few  live  after  death  as  long 
or  as  fully  as  they  had  hoped  to  do,  while  many,  when 
quick,  can  have  had  none  but  the  faintest  idea  of  the 
immortality  that  awaited  them ;  it  is  nevertheless  true 
that  none  are  so  still-born  on  -death  as  not  to  -enter 
into  a  life  of  some  sort,  however  short  and  humble. 
A  short  life  or  a  long  one  can  no  more  be  bargained 
for  in  the  unseen  world  than  in  the  3een ;  as,  how- 
ever, care  on  the  part  of  parents  can  do  much  for  the 
longer  life  and  greater  well-being  of  their  offspring  in 
this  world,  so  the  conduct  of  that  offspring  in  this 
world  does  much  both  to  secure  for  itself  longer  tenure 
of  life  in  the  next,  and  to  determine  whether  that  life 
shall  1)6  one  of  reward  or  punishment. 

"  'Reward  or  punishment,'  some  reader  will  perhaps 
exclaim ;  'what  mockery,  when  the  essence  of  reward 
and  punishment  lies  in  their  being  felt  by  those  who 
have  earned  them.'     I  can  do  nothing  with  those  who 


122  Erewhon  Revisited 

either  cry  for  the  moon,  or  deny  that  it  has  two  sides, 
on  the  ground  that  we  can  see  but  one.  Here  comes 
in  faith,  of  which  the  Sunchild  said,  that  though  we< 
can  do  Httle  with  it  we  can  do  nothing  without  it. 
Faith  does  not  consist,  as  some  have  falsely  urged, 
in  believing  things  on  insufficient  evidence;  this  is  not 
faith,  but  faithlessness  to  all  that  we  should  hold  most 
faithfully.  Faith  consists  in  holding  that  the  instincts 
of  the  best  men  and  women  are  in  themselves  an  evi- 
dence which  may  not  be  set  aside  lightly ;  and  the  best 
men  and  women  have  ever  held  that  death  is  better 
than  dishonour,  and  desirable  if  honour  is  to  be  won 
thereby. 

*'It  follows,  then,  that  though  our  conscious  flesh 
and  blood  life  is  the  only  one  that  we  can  fully  ap- 
prehend, yet  we  do  also  indeed  move,  even  here,  in 
an  unseen  world,  wherein,  when  our  palpable  life  is 
ended,  we  shall  continue  to  live  for  a  shorter  or  longer 
time — reaping  roughly  though  not  infallibly,  much  as 
we  have  sown.  Of  this  unseen  world  the  best  men 
and  women  will  be  almost  as  heedless  while  in  the 
flesh  as  they  will  be  when  their  life  in  flesh  is  over; 
for,  as  the  Sunchild  often  said,  'The  Kingdom  of 
Heaven  cometh  not  by  observation.'  It  will  be  all  in 
all  to  them,  and  at  the  same  time  nothing,  for  the 
better  people  they  are,  the  less  they  will  think  of  any- 
thing but  this  present  life. 

"What  an  ineffable  contradiction  in  terms  have  we 
not  here.  What  a  reversal,  is  it  not,  of  all  this  world's 
canons,  that  we  should  hold  even  the  best  of  all  that 
we  can  know  or  feel  in  this  life  to  be  a  poor  thing  as 
compared  with  hopes  the  fulfilment  of  which  we  can 
never  either  feel  or  know.    Yet  we  all  hold  this,  how- 


Vicarious  Existence  123 

ever  little  we  may  admit  it  to  ourselves.  For  the 
world  at  heart  despises  its  own  canons." 

I  cannot  quote  further  from  Dr.  Gurgoyle's  pam- 
phlet; suffice  it  that  he  presently  dealt  with  those  who 
say  that  it  is  not  right  of  any  man  to  aim  at  thrusting 
himself  in  among  the  living  when  he  has  had  his 
day.  "Let  him  die,"  say  they,  "and  let  die  as  his 
fathers  before  him."  He  argued  that  as  we  had  a 
right  to  pester  people  till  we  got  ourselves  born,  so 
also  we  have  a  right  to  pester  them  for  extension  of 
life  beyond  the  grave.  Life,  whether  before  the  grave 
or  afterwards,  is  like  love — all  reason  is  against  it, 
and  all  healthy  instinct  for  it.  Instinct  on  such  mat- 
ters is  the  older  and  safer  guide;  no  one,  therefore, 
should  seek  to  efface  himself  as  regards  the  next  world 
more  than  as  regards  this.  If  he  is  to  be  effaced,  let 
others  efface  him ;  do  not  let  him  commit  suicide. 
Freely  we  have  received;  freely,  therefore,  let  us  take 
as  much  more  as  we  can  get,  and  let  it  be  a  stand-up 
fight  between  ourselves  and  posterity  to  see  whether 
it  can  get  rid  of  us  or  no.  If  it  can,  let  it;  if  it  can- 
not, it  must  put  up  with  us.  It  can  1)ctter  care  for 
itself  than  we  can  for  ourselves  when  the  breath  is 
out  of  us. 

Not  the  least  important  duty,  he  continued,  of  pos- 
terity towards  itself  lies  in  passing  righteous  judge- 
ment on  the  forbears  who  stand  up  before  it.  They 
should  be  allowed  the  l)cncnt  of  a  doubt,  and  pec- 
cadilloes should  be  ignored;  but  wlicn  no  doubt  exists 
that  a  man  was  engrainedly  mean  and  cowardly,  his 
reputation  must  remain  in  the  Purgatory  of  Time  for 
a  term  varying  from,  say,  a  hundred  to  two  thou- 
sand years.     After  a  hundred  years  it  may  generally 


124  Erewhon  Revisited 

come  down,  though  it  will  still  be  under  a  cloud.  After 
two  thousand  years  it  may  be  mentioned  in  any  so- 
ciety without  holding  up  of  hands  in  horror.  Our 
sense  of  moral  guilt  varies  inversely  as  the  square  of 
its  distance  in  time  and  space  from  ourselves. 

Not  so  with  heroism ;  this  loses  no  lustre  through 
time  and  distance.  Good  is  gold ;  it  is  rare,  but  it  will 
not  tarnish.  Evil  is  like  dirty  water — plentiful  and 
foul,  but  it  will  run  itself  clear  of  taint. 

The  Doctor  having  thus  expatiated  on  his  own  opin- 
ions concerning  heaven  and  hell,  concluded  by  tilting 
at  those  which  all  right-minded  people  hold  among 
ourselves.  I  shall  adhere  to  my  determination  not  to 
reproduce  his  arguments;  suffice  it  that  though  less 
flippant  than  those  of  the  young  student  whom  I  have 
already  referred  to,  they  were  more  plausible;  and 
though  I  could  easily  demolish  them,  the  reader  will 
probably  prefer  that  I  should  not  set  them  up  for  the 
mere  pleasure  of  knocking  them  down.  Here,  then,  I 
take  my  leave  of  good  Dr.  Gurgoyle  and  his  pamphlet; 
neither  can  I  interrupt  my  story  further  by  saying 
anything  about  the  other  two  pamphlets  purchased  by 
my  father. 


CHAPTER  XII 

GEORGE    FAILS   TO    FIND    MY    FATHER,    WHEREON    VRAM 
CAUTIONS  THE  PROFESSORS 

On  the  morning  after  the  interview  with  her  son 
described  in  a  foregoing  chapter,  Yram  told  her  hus- 
band what  she  had  gathered  from  the  Professors,  and 
said  that  she  was  expecting  Higgs  every  moment,  in- 
asmuch as  she  was  confident  that  George  would  soon 
find  him. 

"Do  you  what  you  like,  my  dear,"  said  the  I\Tayor. 
"I  shall  keep  out  of  the  way,  for  you  will  manage  him 
better  without  me.     You  know  what  I  think  of  you." 

He  then  went  unconcernedly  to  his  breakfast  at 
which  the  Professors  found  him  somewhat  tactiturn. 
Indeed  they  set  him  down  as  one  of  the  dullest  and 
most  uninteresting  people  they  had  ever  met. 

When  Cieorgc  returned  and  told  his  mother  that 
though  he  had  at  last  founrl  the  inn  at  which  my  father 
had  slept,  my  father  had  left  and  could  not  be  traced, 
she  was  disconcerted,  but  after  a  few  minutes  she 
said — 

"He  will  come  back  here  for  the  dcflication,  but 
there  will  be  such  crowds  that  we  may  not  see  him  till 
he  is  inside  the  temple,  and  it  will  save  trouble  if  wc 
can  lay  hold  on  him  sooner.  Therefore,  ride  either 
to  Clearwater  or  Fairmead,  and  sec  if  you  can  find 
him.     Try  Fairmead  first :  it  is  more  out  of  the  way. 

125 


126  Erewhon  Revisited 

If  you  cannot  hear  of  him  there,  come  back,  get  an- 
other horse,  and  try  Clearwater.  If  you  fail  here  to, 
we  must  give  him  up,  and  look  out  for  him  in  the 
temple  to-morrow  morning." 

"Are  you  going  to  say  anything  to  the  Professors?" 

"Not  if  you  bring  Higgs  here  before  nightfall.  If 
you  cannot  do  this  I  must  talk  it  over  with  my  hus- 
band; I  shall  have  some  hours  in  which  to  make  up 
my  mind.     Now  go — the  sooner  the  better." 

It  was  nearly  eleven,  and  in  a  few  minutes  George 
was  on  his  way.  By  noon  he  was  at  Fairmead,  where 
he  tried  all  the  inns  in  vain  for  news  of  a  person 
answering  the  description  of  my  father — for,  not 
knowing  what  name  my  father  might  choose  to  give, 
he  could  trust  only  to  description.  He  concluded  that 
since  my  father  could  not  be  heard  of  in  Fairmead 
by  one  o'clock  (as  it  nearly  was  by  the  time  he  had 
been  round  all  the  inns)  he  must  have  gone  some- 
where else ;  he  therefore  rode  back  to  Sunch'ston,  made 
a  hasty  lunch,  got  a  fresh  horse,  and  rode  to  Clear- 
water, where  he  met  with  no  better  success.  At  all 
the  inns  both  at  Fairmead  and  Clearwater  he  left  word 
that  if  the  person  he  had  described  came  later  in  the 
day,  he  was  to  be  told  that  the  Mayoress  particularly 
begged  him  to  return  at  once  to  Sunch'ston,  and  come 
to  the  Mayor's  house. 

Now  all  the  time  that  George  was  at  Fairmead  my 
father  was  inside  the  Musical  Bank,  which  he  had  en- 
tered before  going  to  any  inn.  Here  he  had  been  sit- 
ting for  nearly  a  couple  of  hours,  resting,  dreaming, 
and  reading  Bishop  Gurgoyle's  pamphlet.  If  he  had 
left  the  Bank  five  minutes  earlier,  he  would  probably 
have  been  seen  by  George  in  the  main  street  of  Fair- 


A  Vain  Search  127 

mead — as  he  found  out  on  reaching  the  inn  which  he 
selected  and  ordering  dinner. 

He  had  hardly  got  inside  the  house  before  the  waiter 
told  him  that  young  Mr.  Strong,  the  Ranger  from 
Sunch'ston,  had  been  enquiring  for  him  and  had  left 
a  message  for  him,  which  was  duly  delivered. 

My  father,  though  in  reality  somewhat  disquieted, 
showed  no  uneasiness,  and  said  how  sorry  he  was  to 
have  missed  seeing  Mr.  Strong.  "But,"  he  added, 
"it  does  not  much  matter ;  I  need  not  go  back  this  af- 
ternoon, for  I  shall  be  at  Sunch'ston  to-morrow  morn- 
ing and  will  go  straight  to  the  Mayor's." 

He  had  no  suspicion  that  he  was  discovered,  but  he 
was  a  good  deal  puzzled.  Presently  he  inclined  to  the 
opinion  that  George,  still  believing  him  to  be  Pro- 
fessor Panky,  had  wanted  to  invite  him  to  the  ban- 
quet on  the  following  day — for  he  had  no  idea  that 
Hanky  and  Panky  were  staying  with  the  Mayor  and 
Mayoress.  Or  perhaps  the  Mayor  and  his  wife  did 
not  like  .so  distinguished  a  man's  having  been  una1)le 
to  find  a  lodging  in  Sunch'ston,  and  wanted  him  to 
stay  with  them.  Ill  satisfied  as  he  was  with  any  theory 
he  could  form,  he  nevertheless  reflected  tiiat  he  could 
not  do  better  than  stay  where  he  was  for  the  night, 
inasmuch  as  no  one  would  be  likely  to  look  for  him  a 
second  time  at  Fairmcad.  He  therefore  ordered  his 
room  at  once. 

It  was  nearly  seven  l)efore  George  got  back  to 
Sunch'ston.  In  the  meantime  "N'ram  and  the  Mayor 
had  considered  the  question  whether  anything  was  to 
be  said  to  the  Professors  or  no.  They  were  confident 
that  mv  father  would  not  commit  biiiisclf — why,  in- 
deed, should  he  have  dyed  his  liair  and  otherwise  dis- 


128  Erewhon  Revisited 

guised  himself,  if  he  had  not  intended  to  remain  un- 
discovered? Oh  no;  the  probabiHty  was  that  if  noth- 
ing was  said  to  the  Professors  now,  nothing  need  ever 
be  said,  for  my  father  might  be  escorted  back  to  the 
statues  by  George  on  the  Sunday  evening  and  be  told 
that  he  was  not  to  return.  Moreover,  even  though 
something  untoward  were  to  happen  after  all,  the 
Professors  would  have  no  reason  for  thinking  that 
their  hostess  had  known  of  the  Sunchild's  being  in 
Sunch'ston. 

On  the  other  hand,  they  were  her  guests,  and  it 
would  not  be  handsome  to  keep  Hanky,  at  any  rate, 
in  the  dark,  when  the  knowledge  that  the  Sunchild 
was  listening  to  every  word  he  said  might  make  him 
modify  his  sermon  not  a  little.  It  might  or  it  might 
not,  but  that  was  a  matter  for  him,  not  her.  The  only 
question  for  her  was  whether  or  no  it  would  be  sharp 
practice  to  know  what  she  knew  and  say  nothing 
about  it.  Her  husband  hated  finesse  as  much  as  she 
did,  and  they  settled  it  that  though  the  question  was  a 
nice  one,  the  more  proper  thing  to  do  would  be  to 
tell  the  Professors  what  it  might  so  possibly  concern 
one  or  both  of  them  to  know. 

On  George's  return  without  news  of  my  father,  they 
found  he  thought  just  as  they  did ;  so  it  was  arranged 
that  they  should  let  the  Professors  dine  in  peace,  but 
tell  them  about  the  Sunchild's  being  again  in  Erewhon 
as  soon  as  dinner  was  over. 

"Happily,"  said  George,  "they  will  do  no  harm. 
They  will  wish  Higgs's  presence  to  remain  unknown 
as  much  as  we  do,  and  they  will  be  glad  that  he  should 
be  got  out  of  the  country  immediately." 

"Not  so,  my  dear,"  said  Yram.    "  'Out  of  the  coun- 


A  Vain  Search  129 

try'  will  not  do  for  those  people.  Nothing  short  of 
'out  of  the  world'  will  satisfy  them." 

"That,"  said  George  promptly,  "must  not  be." 

"Certainly  not,  my  dear,  but  that  is  what  they  will 
want.  I  do  not  like  having  to  tell  them,  but  I  am 
afraid  we  must." 

"Never  mind,"  said  the  Mayor,  laughing.  "Tell 
them,  and  let  us  see  what  happens." 

They  then  dressed  for  dinner,  where  Hanky  and 
Panky  were  the  only  guests.  \\'^hen  dinner  was  over 
Yram  sent  away  her  other  children,  George  alone  re- 
maining. He  sat  opposite  the  Professors,  while  the 
Mayor  and  Yram  were  at  the  two  ends  of  the  table. 

"I  am  afraid,  dear  Professor  Hanky,"  said  Yram. 
"that  I  was  not  quite  open  with  you  last  night,  but 
I  wanted  time  to  think  things  over,  and  I  know  you 
will  forgive  me  when  you  remember  what  a  number 
of  guests  I  had  to  attend  to."  She  then  referred  to 
what  Hanky  had  told  her  about  the  supposed  ranger, 
and  shewed  him  how  obvious  it  was  that  this  man  was 
a  foreigner,  who  had  been  for  some  time  in  Krewhon 
more  than  seventeen  years  ago,  but  had  had  no  com- 
munication with  it  since  then.  Having  pointed  suffi- 
ciently, as  she  thought,  to  the  Sunchild,  she  said,  "You 
see  who  I  believe  this  man  to  have  been.  Have  T  said 
enough,  or  shall  I  say  more?" 

"I  undcr.stand  you."  said  Hanky,  "and  1  agree  with 
you  that  the  Sunchild  will  l)e  in  the  temple  to-mor- 
row. It  is  a  serious  business,  but  T  shall  not  alter  my 
sermon.  He  must  listen  to  what  I  may  choose  to 
say,  and  T  wish  I  could  tell  him  what  a  fool  he  was  for 
coming  here.  H  he  l)chavcs  himself,  well  and  good: 
your  son   will  arrest  him   quietly   after  service,   and 


130  Erewhon  Revisited 

by  night  he  will  be  in  the  Blue  Pool.  Your  son  is 
bound  to  throw  him  there  as  a  foreign  devil,  with- 
out the  formality  of  a  trial.  It  would  be  a  most 
painful  duty  to  me,  but  unless  I  am  satisfied  that  that 
man  has  been  thrown  into  the  Blue  Pool,  I  shall  have 
no  option  but  to  report  the  matter  at  headquarters. 
If,  on  the  other  hand,  the  poor  wretch  makes  a  dis- 
turbance, I  can  set  the  crowd  on  to  tear  him  to 
pieces." 

George  was  furious,  but  he  remained  quite  calm, 
and  left  everything  to  his  mother. 

"I  have  nothing  to  do  with  the  Blue  Pool,"  said 
Yram  drily.  "My  son,  I  doubt  not,  will  know  how 
to  do  his  duty;  but  if  you  let  the  people  kill  this  man, 
his  body  will  remain,  and  an  inquest  must  be  held, 
for  the  matter  will  have  been  too  notorious  to  be 
hushed  up.  All  Higgs's  measurements  and  all  marks 
on  his  body  were  recorded,  and  these  alone  would 
identify  him.  My  father,  too,  who  is  still  master  of 
the  gaol,  and  many  another,  could  swear  to  him. 
Should  the  body  prove,  as  no  doubt  it  would,  to  be  that 
of  the  Sunchild,  what  is  to  become  of  Sunchildism?" 

Hanky  smiled.  "It  would  not  be  proved.  The 
measurements  of  a  man  of  twenty  or  thereabouts 
would  not  correspond  with  this  man's.  All  we  Pro- 
fessors should  attend  the  inquest,  and  half  Bridgeford 
is  now  in  Sunch'ston.  No  matter  though  nine-tenths 
of  the  marks  and  measurements  corresponded,  so  long 
as  there  is  a  tenth  that  does  not  do  so,  we  should  not 
be  flesh  and  blood  if  we  did  not  ignore  the  nine  points 
and  insist  only  on  the  tenth.  After  twenty  years  we 
shall  find  enough  to  serve  our  turn.  Think  of  what 
all  the  learning  of  the  country  is  committed  to;  think 


Yram  Warns  Hanky  131 

of  the  change  in  all  our  ideas  and  institutions;  think 
of  the  King  and  of  Court  influence.  I  need  not  en- 
large. We  shall  not  permit  the  body  to  be  the  Sun- 
child's.  No  matter  what  evidence  you  may  produce, 
we  shall  sneer  it  down,  and  say  we  must  have  more 
before  you  can  expect  us  to  take  you  seriously;  if  you 
bring  more,  we  shall  pay  no  attention;  and  the  more 
you  bring  the  more  we  shall  laugh  at  you.  No  doubt 
those  among  us  who  are  by  way  of  being  candid  will 
admit  that  your  arguments  ought  to  be  considered,  but 
you  must  not  expect  that  it  will  be  any  part  of  their 
duty  to  consider  them. 

"And  even  though  we  admitted  that  the  body  had 
been  proved  up  to  the  hilt  to  be  the  Sunchild's,  do  you 
think  that  such  a  trifle  as  that  could  affect  Sunchild- 
ism?  Hardly.  Sunch'ston  is  no  match  for  Bridge- 
ford  and  the  King;  our  only  difficulty  would  lie  in 
settling  which  was  the  most  plausible  way  of  the  many 
plausible  ways  in  which  the  death  could  be  explained. 
We  should  hatch  up  twenty  theories  in  less  than  twenty 
hours,  and  the  last  state  of  Sunchildism  would  be 
stronger  than  the  first.  For  the  people  want  it,  and  so 
long  as  they  want  it  they  will  have  it.  At  the  same 
time  the  supjwsed  identification  of  the  lx)dy,  even  by 
some  few  ignorant  people  here,  might  lead  to  a  local 
heresy  that  is  as  well  avoided,  and  it  will  be  better 
that  your  son  should  arrest  the  man  before  the  dedica- 
tion, if  he  can  be  found,  and  throw  him  into  the  Blue 
Pool  without  any  one  but  ourselves  knowing  that  he 
has  been  here  at  all." 

I  need  not  dwell  on  the  deep  disgust  with  which  this 
speech  was  listened  to,  but  the  Mayor,  and  Yram, 
and  George  said  not  a  word. 


132  Erewhon  Revisited 

"But,  Mayoress,"  said  Panky,  who  had  not  opened 
his  Hps  so  far,  "are  you  sure  that  you  are  not  too 
hasty  in  believing  this  stranger  to  be  the  Sunchild? 
People  are  continually  thinking  that  such  and  such  an- 
other is  the  Sunchild  come  down  again  from  the  sun's 
palace  and  going  to  and  fro  among  us.  How  many 
such  stories,  sometimes  very  plausibly  told,  have  we 
not  had  during  the  last  twenty  years?  They  never 
take  root,  and  die  out  of  themselves  as  suddenly  as 
they  spring  up.  That  the  man  is  a  poacher  can  hardly 
be  doubted ;  I  thought  so  the  moment  I  saw  him ;  but 
I  think  I  can  also  prove  to  you  that  he  is  not  a  for- 
eigner, and,  therefore,  that  he  is  not  the  Sunchild.  He 
quoted  the  Sunchild's  prayer  with  a  corruption  that 
can  have  only  reached  him  from  an  Erewhonian 
source " 

Here  Hanky  interrupted  him  somewhat  brusquely. 

"The  man,  Panky,"  said  he,  "was  the  Sunchild ;  and 
he  was  not  a  poacher,  for  he  had  no  idea  that  he  was 
breaking  the  law ;  nevertheless,  as  you  say,  Sunchild- 
ism  on  the  brain  has  been  a  common  form  of  mania 
for  several  years.  Several  persons  have  even  believed 
themselves  to  be  the  Sunchild.  We  must  not  forget 
this,  if  it  should  get  about  that  Higgs  has  been  here." 

Then,  turning  to  Yram,  he  said  sternly,  "But  come 
what  may,  your  son  must  take  him  to  the  Blue  Pool 
at  nightfall." 

"Sir,"  said  George,  with  perfect  suavity,  "you  have 
spoken  as  though  you  doubted  my  readiness  to  do 
my  duty.  Let  me  assure  you  very  solemnly  that  when 
the  time  comes  for  me  to  act,  I  shall  act  as  duty  may 
direct." 


Yram  Warns  Hanky  133 

"I  will  answer  for  him,"  said  Yram,  with  even  more 
than  her  usual  quick,  frank  smile,  "that  he  will  fulfil 
his  instructions  to  the  letter,  unless,"  she  added,  "some 
black  and  white  horses  come  down  from  heaven  and 
snatch  poor  Higgs  out  of  his  grasp.  Such  things  have 
happened  before  now." 

"I  should  advise  your  son  to  shoot  them  if  they  do," 
said  Hanky  drily  and  sub-defiantly. 

Here  the  conversation  closed ;  but  it  was  useless 
trying  to  talk  of  anything  else,  so  the  Professors  asked 
Yram  to  excuse  them  if  they  retired  early,  in  view 
of  the  fact  that  they  had  a  fatiguing  day  before  them. 
This  excuse  their  hostess  readily  acepted. 

"Do  not  let  us  talk  any  more  now,"  said  Yram  as 
soon  as  they  had  left  the  room.  "It  will  be  quite  time 
enough  when  the  dedication  is  over.  But  I  rather 
think  the  black  and  white  horses  will  come." 

"I  think  so  too,  my  dear,"  said  the  Mayor  laugh- 
ing. 

"They  shall  come,"  said  George  gravely;  "but  we 
have  not  yet  got  enough  to  make  sure  of  bringing 
them.  Higgs  will  perhaps  be  able  to  help  me  to- 
morrow." 


"Now  what,"  said  Panky  as  they  went  upstairs, 
"does  that  woman  mean — for  she  means  something? 
Black  and  white  horses  indeed!" 

"I  do  not  know  what  she  means  to  do,"  said  the 
other,  "but  I  know  that  she  thinks  she  can  l)est  us." 

"I  wish  we  had  not  eaten  lliose  quails." 

"Nonsense,  I^anky ;  no  one  saw  us  but  Higgs,  and 
the  evidence  of  a  foreign  devil,  in  such  straits  as  his, 


134  Erewhon  Revisited 

could  not  stand  for  a  moment.  We  did  not  eat  them. 
No,  no ;  she  has  something  that  she  thinks  better  than 
that.  Besides,  it  is  absolutely  impossible  that  she  should 
have  heard  what  happened.  What  I  do  not  under- 
stand is,  why  she  should  have  told  us  about  the  Sun- 
child's  being  here  at  all.  Why  not  have  left  us  to 
find  it  out  or  to  know  nothing  about  it?  I  do  not 
understand  it." 

So  true  is  it,  as  Euclid  long  since  observed,  that  the 
less  cannot  comprehend  that  which  is  the  greater. 
True,  however,  as  this  is,  it  is  also  sometimes  true  that 
the  greater  cannot  comprehend  the  less.  Hanky  went 
musing  to  his  own  room  and  threw  himself  into  an 
easy  chair  to  think  the  position  over.  After  a  few 
minutes  he  went  to  a  table  on  which  he  saw  pen,  ink, 
and  paper,  and  wrote  a  short  letter;  then  he  rang 
the  bell. 

When  the  servant  came  he  said,  *'I  want  to  send  this 
note  to  the  manager  of  the  new  temple,  and  it  is  im- 
portant that  he  should  have  it  to-night.  Be  pleased, 
therefore,  to  take  it  to  him  and  deliver  it  into  his  own 
hands ;  but  I  had  rather  you  said  nothing  about  it  to 
the  Mayor  or  Mayoress,  nor  to  any  of  your  fellow- 
servants.  Slip  out  unperceived  if  you  can.  When 
you  have  delivered  the  note,  ask  for  an  answer  at 
once,  and  bring  it  to  me." 

So  saying,  he  slipped  a  sum  equal  to  about  five  shill- 
ings into  the  man's  hand. 

The  servant  returned  in  about  twenty  minutes,  for 
the  temple  was  quite  near,  and  gave  a  note  to  Hanky, 
which  ran,  "Your  wishes  shall  be  attended  to  without 
fail." 


Yram  Warns  Hanky  135 

"Good!"  said  Hanky  to  the  man.     "No  one  in  the 
house  knows  of  your  having  run  this  errand  for  me?" 
"No  one,  sir." 
"Thank  you !    I  wish  you  a  very  good  night." 


CHAPTER  XIII 

A  VISIT  TO  THE  PROVINCIAL  DEFORMATORY 
AT   FAIRMEAD 

Having  finished  his  early  dinner,  and  not  fearing 
that  he  should  be  either  recognised  at  Fairmead  or 
again  enquired  after  from  Sunch'ston,  my  father  went 
out  for  a  stroll  round  the  town,  to  see  what  else  he 
could  find  that  should  be  new  and  strange  to  him.  He 
had  not  gone  far  before  he  saw  a  large  building  with 
an  inscription  saying  that  it  was  the  Provincial  De- 
formatory  for  Boys.  Underneath  the  larger  inscrip- 
tion there  was  a  smaller  one — one  of  those  corrupt 
versions  of  my  father's  sayings,  which,  on  dipping 
into  the  Sayings  of  the  Sunchild,  he  had  found  to  be 
so   vexatiously   common.      The   inscription   ran : — 

"When  the  righteous  man  turneth  away  from  the  right- 
eousness that  he  hath  committed,  .and  doeth  that  which  is  a 
little  naughty  and  wrong,  he  will  generally  be  found  to  have 
gained  in  amiability  what  he  has  lost  in  righteousness." — 
Sunchild  Sayings,  chap.  xxii.  v.  15. 

The  case  of  the  little  girl  that  he  had  watched  earlier 
in  the  day  had  filled  him  with  a  great  desire  to  see  the 
working  of  one  of  these  curious  institutions ;  he  there- 
fore resolved  to  call  on  the  head-master  (whose  name 
he  found  to  be  Turvey),  and  enquired  about  terms, 
alleging  that  he  had  a  boy  whose  incorrigible  rectitude 

136 


A  Deformatory  137 

was  giving  him  much  anxiety.  The  information  he 
had  gained  in  the  forenoon  would  be  enough  to  save 
him  from  appearing  to  know  nothing  of  the  system. 
On  having  rung  the  bell,  he  announced  himself  to  the 
servant  as  a  Air.  Senoj,  and  asked  if  he  could  see  the 
Principal. 

Almost  immediately  he  was  ushered  into  the  pres- 
ence of  a  beaming,  dapper-looking,  little  old  gentle- 
man, quick  of  speech  and  movement,  in  spite  of  some 
little  portliness. 

"Ts,  ts,  ts,"  he  said,  when  my  father  had  enquired 
about  terms  and  asked  whether  he  might  see  the  sys- 
tem at  work.  "How  unfortunate  that  you  should  have 
called  on  a  Saturday  afternoon.  We  always  have  a 
half-holiday.  But  stay — yes — that  will  do  very 
nicely ;  I  will  send  for  them  into  school  as  a  means  of 
stimulating  their  refractory  system." 

He  called  his  servant  and  told  him  to  ring  the  boys 
into  school.  Then,  turning  to  my  father  he  said, 
"Stand  here,  sir,  by  the  window ;  you  will  see  them  all 
come  trooping  in.  H'm,  h'm,  I  am  sorry  to  see  them 
still  come  back  as  soon  as  they  hear  the  bell.  I  sup- 
pose I  shall  ding  some  recalcitrancy  into  them  some 
day,  but  it  is  uphill  work.  Do  you  see  the  head-boy — 
the  third  of  those  that  are  coming  up  the  path?  I 
shall  have  to  get  rid  of  him.  Do  you  see  him?  he  is 
going  back  to  whip  up  the  laggers — and  now  he  has 
boxed  a  boy's  ears:  that  boy  is  one  of  the  most  hope- 
ful under  my  care.  T  feel  sure  he  has  been  using  im- 
proper language,  and  my  hcad-l)oy  has  checked  him 
instead  of  encouraging  him."  And  so  on  till  the  boys 
were  all  in  school. 

"You  see,  my  dear  sir,"  he  said  to  my  father,  "we 


138  Erewhon  Revisited 

are  in  an  impossible  position.  We  have  to  obey  in- 
structions from  the  Grand  Council  of  Education  at 
Bridgeford,  and  they  have  established  these  institu- 
tions in  consequence  of  the  Sunchild's  having  said  that 
we  should  aim  at  promoting  the  greatest  happiness  of 
the  greatest  number.  This,  no  doubt,  is  a  sound  prin- 
ciple, and  the  greatest  number  are  by  nature  somewhat 
dull,  conceited,  and  unscrupulous.  They  do  not  like 
those  who  are  quick,  unassuming,  and  sincere;  how, 
then,  consistently  with  the  first  principles  either  of 
morality  or  political  economy  as  revealed  to  us  by  the 
Sunchild,  can  we  encourage  such  people  if  we  can 
bring  sincerity  and  modesty  fairly  home  to  them  ?  We 
cannot  do  so.  And  we  must  correct  the  young  as  far 
as  possible  from  forming  habits  which,  unless  indulged 
in  with  the  greatest  moderation,  are  sure  to  ruin  them. 
"I  cannot  pretend  to  consider  myself  very  success- 
ful. I  do  my  best,  but  I  can  only  aim  at  making  my 
school  a  reflection  of  the  outside  world.  In  the  out- 
side world  we  have  to  tolerate  much  that  is  prejudicial 
to  the  greatest  happiness  of  the  greatest  number, 
partly  because  we  cannot  always  discover  in  time  who 
may  be  let  alone  as  being  genuinely  insincere,  and  who 
are  in  reality  masking  sincerity  under  a  garb  of  flip- 
pancy, and  partly  also  because  we  wish  to  err  on  the 
side  of  letting  the  guilty  escape,  rather  than  of  pun- 
ishing the  innocent.  Thus  many  people  who  are  per- 
fectly well  known  to  belong  to  the  straightforward 
classes  are  allowed  to  remain  at  large,  and  may  be 
even  seen  hobnobbing  with  the  guardians  of  public 
immorality.  Indeed  it  is  not  in  the  public  interest  that 
straightforwardness  should  be  extirpated  root  and 
branch,  for  the  presence  of  a  small  modicum  of  sin- 


A  Deformatory  139 

cerity  acts  as  a  wholesome  irritant  to  the  academi- 
cism of  the  greatest  number,  stimulating  it  to  con- 
sciousness of  its  own  happy  state,  and  giving  it 
something  to  look  down  upon.  Moreover,  we  hold 
it  useful  to  have  a  certain  number  of  melancholy  ex- 
amples, whose  notorious  failure  shall  serve  as  a  warn- 
ing to  those  who  neglect  cultivating  that  power  of  im- 
moral self-control  which  shall  prevent  them  from  say- 
ing, or  even  thinking,  anything  that  shall  not  imme- 
diately and  palpably  minister  to  the  happiness,  and 
hence  meet  the  approval,  of  the  greatest  number." 

By  this  time  the  boys  were  all  in  school.  "There  is 
not  one  prig  in  the  whole  lot,"  said  the  head-master 
sadly.  "I  wish  there  was,  but  only  those  boys  come 
here  who  are  notoriously  too  good  to  become  current 
coin  in  the  world  unless  they  are  hardened  with  an 
alloy  of  vice.  I  should  have  liked  to  show  you  our 
gambling,  book-making,  and  speculation  class,  but  the 
assistant-master  who  attends  to  this  branch  of  our 
curriculum  is  gone  to  Sunch'ston  this  afternoon.  He 
has  friends  who  have  asked  him  to  see  the  dedication 
of  the  new  temple,  and  he  will  not  be  back  till  Mon- 
day. I  really  do  not  know  what  I  can  do  better  for 
you  than  examine  tlic  boys  in  Counsels  of  Imperfec- 
tion." 

So  saying,  he  went  into  the  schoolroom,  over  the 
fireplace  of  which  my  father's  eye  caught  an  inscrij^- 
tion,  "Resist  good,  and  it  will  fly  from  you.  Sun- 
child's  Sayings,  xvii.  2."  Then,  taking  down  a  copy 
of  the  work  just  named  from  a  shelf  above  his  desk, 
he  ran  his  eye  over  a  few  of  its  pages. 

He  called  up  a  class  of  about  twenty  lx)ys. 


140  Erewhon  Revisited 

"Now,  my  boys,"  he  said,  "why  is  it  so  necessary  to 
avoid  extremes  of  truth fuhiess?" 

"It  is  not  necessary,  sir,"  said  one  youngster,  "and 
the  man  who  says  that  it  is  so  is  a  scoundrel." 

"Come  here,  my  boy,  and  hold  out  your  hand." 
When  he  had  done  so,  Mr.  Turvey  gave  him  two  sharp 
cuts  with  a  cane.  "There  now,  go  down  to  the  bottom 
of  the  class  and  try  not  to  be  so  extremely  truthful  in 
future."  Then,  turning  to  my  father,  he  said,  "I  hate 
caning  them,  but  it  is  the  only  way  to  teach  them.  I 
really  do  believe  that  boy  will  know  better  than  to  say 
what  he  thinks  another  time." 

He  repeated  his  question  to  the  class,  and  the  head- 
boy  answered,  "Because,  sir,  extremes  meet,  and  ex- 
treme truth  will  be  mixed  with  extreme  falsehood." 

"Quite  right,  my  boy.  Truth  is  like  religion;  it  has 
only  two  enemies — the  too  much  and  the  too  little. 
Your  answer  is  more  satisfactory  than  some  of  your 
recent  conduct  had  led  me  to  expect." 

"But,  sir,  you  punished  me  only  three  weeks  ago  for 
telling  you  a  lie." 

"Oh  yes ;  why,  so  I  did ;  I  had  forgotten.  But  then 
you  overdid  it.  Still  it  was  a  step  in  the  right  direc- 
tion." 

"And  now,  my  boy,"  he  said  to  a  very  frank  and  in- 
genious youth  about  half  way  up  the  class,  "and  how  is 
truth  best  reached?" 

"Through  the  falling  out  of  thieves,  sir." 

"Quite  so.  Then  it  will  be  necessary  that  the  more 
earnest,  careful,  patient,  self-sacrificing  enquirers 
after  truth  should  have  a  good  deal  of  the  thief  about 
them,  though  they  are  very  honest  people  at  the  same 
time.     Now  what  does  the  man"  (who  on  enquiry  my 


A  Deformatory  141 

father  found  to  be  none  other  than  Mr.  Turvey  him- 
self) "say  about  honesty?" 

"He  says,  sir,  that  honesty  does  not  consist  in  never 
stealing,  but  in  knowing  how  and  where  it  will  be  safe 
to  do  so." 

"Remember,"  said  Mr.  Turvey  to  my  father,  "how 
necessary  it  is  that  we  should  have  a  plentiful  supply 
of  thieves,  if  honest  men  are  ever  to  come  by  their 
own." 

He  spoke  with  the  utmost  gravity,  evidently  quite 
easy  in  his  mind  that  his  scheme  was  the  only  one  by 
which  truth  could  be  successfully  attained.  "But  pray 
let  me  have  any  criticism  you  may  feel  inclined  to 
make." 

"I  have  none,"  said  my  father.  "Your  system  com- 
mends itself  to  common  sense;  it  is  the  one  adopted  in 
the  law  courts,  and  it  lies  at  the  very  foundation  of 
party  government.  If  your  academic  bodies  can  sup- 
ply the  country  with  a  sufficient  number  of  thieves — 
which  I  have  no  doubt  they  can — there  seems  no  limit 
to  the  amount  of  truth  that  may  be  attained,  li,  how- 
ever, I  may  suggest  the  only  difficulty  that  occurs  to 
me,  it  is  that  academic  thieves  shew  no  great  alacrity 
in  falling  out,  but  incline  rather  to  back  each  other  up 
through  thick  and  thin." 

"Ah,  yes,"  said  Mr.  Turvey,  "there  is  lliat  diffi- 
culty; nevertheless  circumstances  from  time  to  time 
arise  to  get  them  by  the  ears  in  spite  of  themselves. 
But  from  whatever  point  of  view  you  may  look  at  the 
question,  it  is  obviously  better  to  aim  at  imperfection 
than  perfection  ;  for  if  we  aim  stcarlily  at  imperfection, 
we  shall  probably  get  it  within  a  reasonable  time, 
whereas  to  the  end  of  our  days  we  should  never  reach 


142  Erewhon  Revisited 

perfection.  Moreover,  from  a  worldly  point  of  view, 
there  is  no  mistake  so  great  as  that  of  being  always 
right."    He  then  turned  to  his  class  and  said — 

"And  now  tell  me  what  did  the  Sunchild  tell  us 
about  God  and  Mammon?" 

The  head-boy  answered :  "He  said  that  we  must 
serve  both,  for  no  man  can  serve  God  well  and  truly 
who  does  not  serve  Mammon  a  little  also ;  and  no  man 
can  serve  Mammon  effectually  unless  he  serve  God 
largely  at  the  same  time." 

"What  were  his  words?" 

"He  said,  'Cursed  be  they  that  say,  "Thou  shalt 
not  serve  God  and  Mammon,"  for  it  is  the  whole  duty 
of  man  to  know  how  to  adjust  the  conflicting  claims 
of  these  two  deities.'  " 

Here  my  father  interposed.  "I  knew  the  Sunchild ; 
and  I  more  than  once  heard  him  speak  of  God  and 
Mammon.  He  never  varied  the  form  of  the  words  he 
used,  which  were  to  the  effect  that  a  man  must  serve 
either  God  or  Mammon,  but  that  he  could  not  serve 
both." 

"Ah!"  said  Mr.  Turvey,  "that  no  doubt  was  his 
exoteric  teaching,  but  Professors  Hanky  and  Panky 
have  assured  me  most  solemnly  that  his  esoteric  teach- 
ing was  as  I  have  given  it.  By  the  way,  these  gentle- 
men are  both,  I  understand,  at  Sunch'ston,  and  I  think 
it  quite  likely  that  I  shall  have  a  visit  from  them  this 
afternoon.  H  you  do  not  know  them  I  should  have 
great  pleasure  in  introducing  you  to  them;  I  was  at 
Bridgeford  with  both  of  them." 

"I  have  had  the  pleasure  of  meeting  them  already," 
said  my  father,  "and  as  you  are  by  no  means  certain 
that  they  will  come,  I  will  ask  you  to  let  me  thank  you 


A  Deformatory  143 

for  all  that  you  have  been  good  enough  to  shew  me, 
and  bid  you  good-afternoon.  I  have  a  rather  press- 
ing engagement " 

"My  dear  sir,  you  must  please  give  me  five  min- 
utes more.  I  shall  examine  the  boys  in  the  Musical 
Bank  Catechism."  He  pointed  to  one  of  them,  and 
said,  "Repeat  your  duty  towards  your  neighbour." 

"My  duty  towards  my  neighbour,"  said  the  boy, 
"is  to  be  quite  sure  that  he  is  not  likely  to  borrow 
money  of  me  before  I  let  him  speak  to  me  at  all,  and 
then  to  have  as  little  to  do  with  him  as " 

At  this  point  there  was  a  loud  ring  at  the  door  bell. 
"Hanky  and  Panky  come  to  see  me,  no  doubt,"  said 
Mr.  Turvey.  "I  do  hope  it  is  so.  You  must  stay  and 
see  them." 

"My  dear  sir,"  said  my  father,  putting  his  handker- 
chief up  to  his  face,  "I  am  taken  suddenly  unwell  and 
must  positively  leave  you."  He  said  this  in  so  per- 
emptory a  tone  that  Mr.  Turvey  had  to  yield.  My 
father  held  his  handkerchief  to  his  face  as  he  went 
through  the  passage  and  hall,  but  when  the  servant 
opened  the  door  he  took  it  down,  for  there  was  no 
Hanky  or  Panky — no  one,  in  fact,  but  a  poor,  wizened 
old  man  who  had  come,  as  he  did  every  other  Satur- 
day afternoon,  to  wind  up  the  Deformatory  clocks. 

Nevertheless,  he  had  been  scared,  and  was  in  a  very 
wicked-fleeth-whcn-no-man-pursucth  frame  of  mind. 
He  went  to  his  inn,  and  shut  himself  up  in  his  room 
for  some  time,  taking  notes  of  all  that  had  happened 
to  him  in  the  last  three  days.  But  even  at  his  inn  he  no 
longer  felt  safe.  How  did  he  know  but  that  Hanky 
and  Panky  might  have  driven  over  from  Sunch'ston  to 


144  Erewhon  Revisited 

see  Mr.  Turvey,  and  might  put  up  at  this  very  house? 
or  they  might  even  be  going  to  spend  the  night  here. 
He  did  not  venture  out  of  his  room  till  after  seven,  by 
which  time  he  had  made  rough  notes  of  as  much  of  the 
foregoing  chapters  as  had  come  to  his  knowledge  so 
far.  Much  of  what  I  have  told  as  nearly  as  I  could  in 
the  order  in  which  it  happened,  he  did  not  learn  till 
later.  After  giving  the  merest  outline  of  his  interview 
with  Mr.  Turvey,  he  wrote  a  note  as  follows : — 

"I  suppose  I  must  have  held  forth  about  the  greatest 
happiness  of  the  greatest  number,  but  I  had  quite  for- 
gotten it,  though  I  remember  repeatedly  quoting  my 
favourite  proverb,  'Every  man  for  himself,  and  the 
devil  take  the  hindmost.'  To  this  they  have  paid  no 
attention." 

By  seven  his  panic  about  Hanky  and  Panky  ended, 
for  if  they  had  not  come  by  this  time,  they  were  not 
likely  to  do  so.  Not  knowing  that  they  were  staying 
at  the  Mayor's,  he  had  rather  settled  it  that  they  would 
now  stroll  up  to  the  place  where  they  had  left  their 
hoard  and  bring  it  down  as  soon  as  night  had  fallen. 
And  it  is  quite  possible  that  they  might  have  found 
some  excuse  for  doing  this,  when  dinner  was  over,  if 
their  hostess  had  not  undesignedly  hindered  them  by 
telling  them  about  the  Sunchild.  When  the  conversa- 
tion recorded  in  the  preceding  chapter  was  over,  it  was 
too  late  for  them  to  make  any  plausible  excuse  for 
leaving  the  house;  we  may  be  sure,  therefore,  that 
much  more  had  been  said  than  Yram  and  George  were 
able  to  remember  and  report  to  my  father. 

After  another  stroll  alDOut  Fairmead,  during  which 
he  saw  nothing  but  what  on  a  larger  scale  he  had 


A  Deformatory  145 

already  seen  at  Sunch'ston,  he  returned  to  his  inn  at 
about  half -past  eight,  and  ordered  supper  in  a  public 
room  that  corresponded  with  the  coffee-room  of  an 
English  hotel. 


CHAPTER  XIV 

my  father  makes  the  acquaintance  of  mr. 
balmy,  and  walks  with  him  neixt  day  to 
sunch'ston 

Up  to  this  point,  though  he  had  seen  enough  to 
shew  him  the  main  drift  of  the  great  changes  that  had 
taken  place  in  Erewhonian  opinions,  my  father  had 
not  been  able  to  glean  much  about  the  history  of  the 
transformation.  He  could  see  that  it  had  all  grown 
out  of  the  supposed  miracle  of  his  balloon  ascent,  and 
he  could  understand  that  the  ignorant  masses  had  been 
so  astounded  b)^  an  event  so  contrary  to  all  their  ex- 
perience, that  their  faith  in  experience  was  utterly 
routed  and  demoralised.  Ha  man  and  a  woman  might 
rise  from  the  earth  and  disappear  into  the  sky,  what 
else  might  not  happen?  H  they  had  been  wrong  in 
thinking  such  a  thing  impossible,  in  how  much  else 
might  they  not  be  mistaken  also?  The  ground  was 
shaken  under  their  very  feet. 

It  was  not  as  though  the  thing  had  been  done  in  a 
corner.  Hundreds  of  people  had  seen  the  ascent;  and 
even  if  only  a  small  number  had  been  present,  the  dis- 
appearance of  the  balloon,  of  my  mother,  and  of  my 
father  himself,  would  have  confirmed  their  story.  My 
father,  then,  could  understand  that  a  single  incontro- 
vertible miracle  of  the  first  magnitude  should  unroot 
the  hedges  of  caution  in  the  minds  of  the  common 

146 


Mr.  Balmy  147 

people,  but  he  could  not  understand  how  such  men  as 
Hanky  and  Panky,  who  evidently  did  not  believe  that 
there  had  been  any  miracle  at  all,  had  been  led  to  throw 
themselves  so  energetically  into  a  movement  so  sub- 
versive of  all  their  traditions,  when,  as  it  seemed  to 
him,  if  they  had  held  out  they  might  have  pricked  the 
balloon  bubble  easily  enough,  and  maintained  every- 
thing in  statu  qiw. 

How,  again,  had  they  converted  the  King — if  they 
had  converted  him?  The  Queen  had  had  full  knowl- 
edge of  all  the  preparations  for  the  ascent.  The  King 
had  had  everything  explained  to  him.  The  workmen 
and  workwomen  who  had  made  the  balloon  and  the  gas 
could  testify  that  none  but  natural  means  had  been 
made  use  of — means  which,  if  again  employed  any 
number  of  times,  would  effect  a  like  result.  How 
could  it  be  that  when  the  means  of  resistance  were  so 
ample  and  so  easy,  the  movement  should  nevertheless 
have  been  irresistible?  For  had  it  not  been  irresistible, 
was  it  to  be  believed  that  astute  men  like  Hanky  and 
Panky  would  have  let  themselves  be  drawn  into  it? 

What  then  had  been  its  inner  history?  My  father 
had  so  fully  determined  to  make  his  way  back  on  the 
following  evening,  that  he  saw  no  chance  of  getting  to 
know  the  facts — unless,  indeed,  he  should  be  able  to 
learn  something  from  Hanky's  sermon ;  he  was  there- 
fore not  sorry  to  find  an  elderly  gentleman  of  grave 
but  kindly  aspect  seated  opposite  to  him  when  he  sat 
down  to  supper. 

The  expression  on  this  man's  face  was  much  like 
that  of  the  early  Christians  as  shewn  in  the  S.  Giovanni 
Laterano  bas-reliefs  at  Rome,  and  again,  though  less 
aggressively  self-confident,  like  that  on  the  faces  of 


148  Erewhon  Revisited 

those  who  have  joined  the  Salvation  Army.  If  he  had 
been  in  England,  my  father  would  have  set  him  down 
as  a  Swedenborgian ;  this  being  impossible,  he  could 
only  note  that  the  stranger  bowed  his  head,  evidently 
saying  a  short  grace  before  he  began  to  eat,  as  my 
father  had  always  done  when  he  was  in  Erewhon  be- 
fore. I  will  not  say  that  my  father  had  never  omitted 
to  say  grace  during  the  whole  of  the  last  twenty  years, 
but  he  said  it  now,  and  unfortunately  forgetting  him- 
self, he  said  it  in  the  English  language,  not  loud,  but 
nevertheless  audibly. 

My  father  was  alarmed  at  what  he  had  done,  but 
there  was  no  need,  for  the  stranger  immediately  said, 
"I  hear,  sir,  that  you  have  the  gift  of  tongues.  The 
Sunchild  often  mentioned  it  to  us,  as  having  been 
vouchsafed  long  since  to  certain  of  the  people,  to 
whom,  for  our  learning,  he  saw  fit  to  feign  that  he  be- 
longed. He  thus  foreshadowed  prophetically  its  mani- 
festation also  among  ourselves.  All  which,  however, 
you  must  know  as  well  as  I  do.     Can  you  interpret?" 

My  father  was  much  shocked,  but  he  remembered 
having  frequently  spoken  of  the  power  of  speaking  in 
unknown  tongues  which  was  possessed  by  many  of  the 
early  Christians,  and  he  also  remembered  that  in  times 
of  high  religious  enthusiasm  this  power  had  repeatedly 
been  imparted,  or  supposed  to  be  imparted,  to  devout 
believers  in  the  middle  ages.  It  grated  upon  him  to 
deceive  one  who  was  so  obviously  sincere,  but  to  avoid 
immediate  discomfiture  he  fell  in  with  what  the 
stranger  had  said. 

"Alas!  sir,"  said  he,  "that  rarer  and  more  precious 
gift  has  been  withheld  from  me;  nor  can  I  speak  in  an. 
unknown  tongue,  unless  as  it  is  borne  in  upon  me  at 


Mr.  Balmy  149 

the  moment.  I  could  not  even  repeat  the  words  that 
have  just  fallen  from  me." 

"That,"  replied  the  stranger,  "is  almost  invariably 
the  case.  These  illuminations  of  the  spirit  are  beyond 
human  control.  You  spoke  in  so  low  a  tone  that  I 
cannot  interpret  what  you  have  just  said,  but  should 
you  receive  a  second  inspiration  later,  I  shall  doubt- 
less be  able  to  interpret  it  for  you.  I  have  been  sin- 
gularly gifted  in  this  respect — more  so,  perhaps,  than 
any  other  interpreter  in  Erewhon." 

My  father  mentally  vowed  that  no  second  inspira- 
tion should  be  vouchsafed  to  him,  but  presently  re- 
membering how  anxious  he  was  for  information  on  the 
points  touched  upon  at  the  beginning  of  this  chapter, 
and  seeing  that  fortune  had  sent  him  the  kind  of  man 
who  would  be  able  to  enlighten  him,  he  changed  his 
mind ;  nothing,  he  reflected,  would  be  more  likely  to 
make  the  stranger  talk  freely  with  him,  than  the  afford- 
ing him  an  opportunity  for  showing  off  his  skill  as  an 
interpreter. 

Something,  therefore,  he  would  say,  but  what?  No 
one  could  talk  more  freely  when  the  train  of  his 
thoughts,  or  the  conversation  of  others,  gave  him  his 
cue,  but  when  told  to  say  an  unattached  "something," 
he  could  not  even  think  of  "How  do  you  do  this  morn- 
ing? it  is  a  very  fine  day";  and  the  more  he  cudgelled 
his  brains  for  "something"  the  more  they  gave  no  re- 
sponse. He  could  not  even  converse  further  with  the 
stranger  beyond  plain  "yes"  and  "no" ;  so  he  went  on 
with  his  supper,  and  in  thinking  of  what  he  was  eating 
and  drinking  for  the  moment  forgot  to  ransack  his 
brain.  No  sooner  had  he  left  off  ransacking  it,  than 
it  suggested  something — not,  indeed,  a  very  brilliant 


150  Erewhon  Revisited 

something,  but  still  something.  On  having  grasped  it, 
he  laid  down  his  knife  and  fork,  and  with  the  air  of 
one  distraught  he  said — 

"My  name  is  Nerval,  on  the  Grampian  Hills 
My   father   feeds  his   flock — a   frugal   swain." 

"I  heard  you,''  exclaimed  the  stranger,  "and  I  can 
interpret  every  word  of  what  you  have  said,  but  it 
would  not  become  me  to  do  so,  for  you  have  con- 
ve3'ed  to  me  a  message  more  comforting  than  I  can 
bring  myself  to  repeat  even  to  him  who  has  conveyed 
it." 

Having  said  this  he  bowed  his  head,  and  remained 
for  some  time  wrapped  in  meditation.  My  father  kept 
a  respectful  silence,  but  after  a  little  time  he  ventured 
to  say  in  a  low  tone,  how  glad  he  was  to  have  been 
the  medium  through  whom  a  comforting  assurance 
had  been  conveyed.  Presently,  on  finding  himself  en- 
couraged to  renew  the  conversation,  he  threw  out  a 
deferential  feeler  as  to  the  causes  that  might  have  in- 
duced Mr.  Balmy  to  come  to  Fairmead.  "Perhaps," 
he  said,  "you,  like  myself,  have  come  to  these  parts  in 
order  to  see  the  dedication  of  the  new  temple;  I  could 
not  get  a  lodging  in  Sunch'ston,  so  I  walked  down  here 
this  morning." 

This,  it  seemed,  had  been  Mr.  Balmy's  own  case,  ex- 
cept that  he  had  not  yet  been  to  Sunch'ston.  Having 
heard  that  it  was  full  to  overflowing,  he  had  deter- 
mined to  pass  the  night  at  Fairmead,  and  walk  over  in 
the  morning — starting  soon  after  seven,  so  as  to  ar- 
rive in  good  time  for  the  dedication  ceremony.  When 
my  father  heard  this,  he  proposed  that  they  should 
walk  together,  to  which  Mr.  Balmy  gladly  consented; 


Mr.  Balmy  151 

it  was  therefore  arranged  that  they  should  go  to  bed 
early,  breakfast  soon  after  six,  and  then  walk  to 
Sunch'ston.  ]\Iy  father  then  went  to  his  own  room, 
where  he  again  smoked  a  surreptitious  pipe  up  the 
chimney. 

Next  morning  the  two  men  breakfasted  together, 
and  set  out  as  the  clock  was  striking  seven.  The  day 
was  lovely  beyond  the  power  of  words,  and  still  fresh 
— for  Fairmead  was  some  2500  feet  above  the  sea,  and 
the  sun  did  not  get  above  the  mountains  that  overhung 
it  on  the  east  side,  till  after  eight  o'clock.  Many  per- 
sons were  also  starting  for  Sunch'ston,  and  there  was 
a  procession  got  up  by  the  Musical  Bank  Managers  of 
the  town,  who  walked  in  it,  robed  in  rich  dresses  of 
scarlet  and  white  embroidered  with  much  gold  thread. 
There  was  a  banner  displaying  an  open  chariot  in 
which  the  Sunchild  and  his  bride  were  seated,  beaming 
with  smiles,  and  in  attitudes  suggesting  that  they  were 
bowing  to  people  who  were  below  them.  The  chariot 
was,  of  course,  drawn  by  the  four  black  and  white 
horses  of  which  the  reader  has  already  heard,  and  the 
balloon  had  been  ignored.  Readers  of  my  father's 
book  will  perhaps  remember  that  my  mother  was  not 
seen  at  all — she  was  smuggled  into  the  car  of  the  bal- 
loon along  with  sundry  rugs,  under  which  she  lay  con- 
cealed till  the  balloon  had  left  the  earth.  All  this  went 
for  nothing.  It  has  been  .said  that  though  Tlod  cannot 
alter  the  past,  historians  can ;  it  is  pcrhajxs  l)ecause  they 
can  be  useful  to  llim  in  this  respect  that  lie  tolerates 
their  existence.  Painters,  my  father  now  realised,  can 
do  all  that  historians  can,  with  even  greater  effect. 

Women  headed  the  procession — the  younger  ones 
dressed  in  white,  with  veils  and  chaplets  of  roses,  blue 


152  Erewhon  Revisited 

cornflower,  and  peasant's  eye  Narcissus,  while  the 
older  women  were  more  soberly  attired.  The  Bank 
Managers  and  the  banner  headed  the  men,  who  were 
mostly  peasants,  but  among  them  were  a  few  who 
seemed  to  be  of  higher  rank,  and  these,  for  the  most 
part,  though  by  no  means  all  of  them,  wore  their  clothes 
reversed — as  I  have  forgotten  to  say  was  done  also  by 
Mr.  Balmy,  Both  men  and  women  joined  in  singing 
a  litany  the  words  of  which  my  father  could  not  catch ; 
the  tune  was  one  he  had  been  used  to  play  on  his 
apology  for  a  flute  when  he  was  in  prison,  being,  in  fact, 
none  other  than  "Home,  Sweet  Home."  There  was 
no  harmony ;  they  never  got  beyond  the  first  four  bars, 
but  these  they  must  have  repeated,  my  father  thought, 
at  least  a  hundred  times  between  Fairmead  and  Sunch'- 
ston.  "Well,"  said  he  to  himself,  "however  little  else 
I  may  have  taught  them,  I  at  any  rate  gave  them  the 
diatonic  scale." 

He  now  set  himself  to  exploit  his  fellow-traveller, 
for  they  soon  got  past  the  procession. 

"The  greatest  miracle,"  said  he,  "in  connection 
with  this  whole  matter,  has  been — so  at  least  it  seems 
to  me — not  the  ascent  of  the  Sunchild  with  his  bride, 
but  the  readiness  with  which  the  people  generally  ac- 
knowledge its  miraculous  character.  I  was  one  of 
those  that  witnessed  the  ascent,  but  I  saw  no  signs  that 
the  crowd  appreciated  its  significance.  They  were 
astounded,  but  they  did  not  fall  down  and  worship." 

"Ah,"  said  the  other,  "but  you  forget  the  long 
drought  and  the  rain  that  the  Sunchild  immediately 
prevailed  on  die  air-god  to  send  us.  He  had  an- 
nounced himself  as  about  to  procure  it  for  us;  it  was 
on  this  ground  that  the  King  assented  to  the  prepara- 


Mr.  Balmy  153 

tion  of  those  material  means  that  were  necessary  be- 
fore the  horses  of  the  sun  could  attach  themselves  to 
the  chariot  into  which  the  balloon  was  immediately 
transformed.  Those  horses  might  not  be  defiled  by 
contact  with  this  gross  earth.  I  too  witnessed  the  as- 
cent ;  at  the  moment,  I  grant  you,  I  saw  neither  chariot 
nor  horses,  and  almost  all  those  present  shared  my 
own  temporary  blindness;  the  whole  action  from  the 
moment  when  the  balloon  left  the  earth,  moved  so  rap- 
idly, that  we  were  flustered,  and  hardly  knew  what  it 
Vvas  that  we  were  really  seeing.  It  was  not  till  two  or 
three  years  later  that  I  found  the  scene  presenting 
itself  to  my  soul's  imaginary  sight  in  the  full  splendour 
which  was  no  doubt  witnessed,  but  not  apprehended, 
by  my  bodily  vision." 

"There,"  said  my  father,  "you  confirm  an  opinion 
that  I  have  long  held. — Nothing  is  so  misleading  as 
the  testimony  of  eye-witnesses." 

"A  .spiritual  enlightenment  from  within,"  returned 
Mr.  Balmy,  "is  more  to  be  relied  on  than  any  merely 
physical  affluence  from  external  objects.  Now,  when 
I  shut  my  eyes,  I  see  the  balloon  ascend  a  little  way, 
but  almost  immediately  the  heavens  open,  the  horses 
descend,  the  balloon  is  transformed,  and  the  glorious 
pageant  careers  onward  till  it  vanishes  into  the  heaven 
of  heavens.  Hundreds  with  whom  I  have  conversed 
assure  me  that  their  experience  has  been  the  same  as 
mine.     Has  yours  been  different?" 

"Oh  no,  not  at  all ;  but  I  always  .see  some  storks 
circling  round  the  balloon  before  I  see  any  horses." 

"How  strange!  I  have  heard  others  also  say  that 
they  saw  the  storks  yoii  mention ;  but  let  me  do  my 
utmost  I  cannot  force  them  into  my  mental  image  of 


154  Erewhon  Revisited 

the  scene.  This  shows,  as  you  were  saying  just  now, 
how  incomplete  tlic  testimony  of  an  eye-witness  often 
is.  It  is  quite  possible  that  the  storks  were  there,  but 
the  horses  and  the  chariot  have  impressed  themselves 
more  vividly  on  my  mind  than  anything  else  has." 

"Quite  so ;  and  I  am  not  without  hope  that  even  at 
this  late  hour  some  further  details  may  yet  be  revealed 
to  us." 

"It  is  possible,  but  we  should  be  as  cautious  in  ac- 
cepting any  fresh  details  as  in  rejecting  them.  Should 
some  heresy  obtain  wide  acceptance,  visions  will  per- 
haps be  granted  to  us  that  may  be  useful  in  refuting 
it,  but  otherwise  I  expect  nothing  more." 

"Neither  do  I,  but  I  have  heard  people  say  that  in- 
asmuch as  the  Sunchild  said  he  was  going  to  interview 
the  air-god  in  order  to  send  us  rain,  he  was  more  prob- 
ably son  to  the  air-god  than  to  the  sun.  Now  here  is  a 
heresy  which " 

"But,  my  dear  sir,"  said  Mr.  Balmy,  interrupting 
him  with  great  warmth,  "he  spoke  of  his  father  in 
heaven  as  endowed  with  attributes  far  exceeding  any 
that  can  be  conceivably  ascribed  to  the  air-god.  The 
power  of  the  air-god  does  not  extend  beyond  our  own 
atmosphere." 

"Pray  believe  me,"  said  my  father,  who  saw  by  the 
ecstatic  gleam  in  his  companion's  eye  that  there  was 
nothing  to  be  done  but  to  agree  with  him,  "that  I  ac- 
cept  " 

"Hear  me  to  the  end,"  replied  Mr.  Balmy.  "Who 
ever  heard  the  Sunchild  claim  relationship  with  the  air- 
god?  He  could  command  the  air-god,  and  evidently 
did  so,  halting  no  doubt  for  this  beneficent  purpose  on 
his  journey  towards  his  ultimate  destination.     Can  we 


Mr.  Balmy  155 

suppose  that  the  air-god,  who  had  evidently  intended 
withholding  the  rain  from  us  for  an  indefinite  period, 
should  have  so  immediately  relinquished  his  designs 
against  us  at  the  inten-ention  of  any  less  exalted  per- 
sonage than  the  sun's  own  offspring?    Impossible!" 

"I  quite  agree  wnth  you,"  exclaimed  my  father,  "it 
is  out  of  the " 

"Let  me  finish  what  I  have  to  say.  When  the  rain 
came  so  copiously  for  days,  even  those  who  had  not 
seen  the  miraculous  ascent  found  its  consequences 
come  so  directly  home  to  them,  that  they  had  no  diffi- 
culty in  accepting  the  report  of  others.  There  was  not 
a  farmer  or  cottager  in  the  land  but  heaved  a  sigh  of 
relief  at  rescue  from  impending  ruin,  and  they  all 
knew  it  was  the  Sunchild  who  had  promised  the  King 
that  he  would  make  the  air-god  send  it.  So  abun- 
dantly, you  will  remember,  did  it  come,  that  we  had  to 
pray  to  him  to  stop  it,  which  in  his  own  good  time  he 
was  pleased  to  do." 

"I  remember,"  said  my  father,  w^ho  was  at  last  able 
to  edge  in  a  word,  "that  it  nearly  flooded  me  out  of 
hou.se  and  home.  And  yet,  in  spite  of  all  this,  I  hear 
that  there  are  many  at  Bridge  ford  who  are  still  hard- 
ened unbelievers." 

"Alas !  you  .speak  too  truly.  Bridgeford  and  the 
Musical  Banks  for  the  first  three  years  fought  tooth 
and  nail  to  blind  those  whom  it  was  their  first  duty  to 
enlighten.  I  was  a  Professor  of  the  hypothetical  lan- 
guage, and  you  may  perhaps  remember  how  I  was 
driven  from  my  chair  on  account  of  the  fearlessness 
with  which  I  expounded  the  dccjicr  mysteries  of  Sun- 
childism." 


156  Erewhon  Revisited 

"Yes,  I  remember  well  how  cruelly "  but  my 

father  was  not  allowed  to  get  beyond  "cruelly." 

"It  was  I  who  explained  why  the  Sunchild  had  rep- 
resented himself  as  belonging  to  a  people  in  many 
respects  analogous  to  our  own,  when  no  such  people 
can  have  existed.  It  was  I  who  detected  that  the  sup- 
posed nation  spoken  of  by  the  Sunchild  was  an  inven- 
tion designed  in  order  to  give  us  instruction  by  the 
light  of  which  we  might  more  easily  remodel  our  in- 
stitutions. I  have  sometimes  thought  that  my  gift  of 
interpretation  was  vouchsafed  to  me  in  recognition  of 
the  humble  services  that  I  was  hereby  allowed  to  ren- 
der. By  the  way,  you  have  received  no  illumination 
this  morning,  have  you?" 

"I  never  do,  sir,  when  I  am  in  the  company  of  one 
whose  conversation  I  find  supremely  interesting.  But 
you  were  telling  me  about  Bridgeford :  I  live  hundreds 
of  miles  from  Bridgeford,  and  have  never  understood 
the  suddenness,  and  completeness,  with  which  men 
like  Professors  Hanky  and  Panky  and  Dr.  Downie 
changed  front.  Do  they  believe  as  you  and  I  do,  or 
did  they  merely  go  with  the  times?  I  spent  a  couple 
of  hours  with  Hanky  and  Panky  only  two  evenings 
ago,  and  was  not  so  much  impressed  as  I  could  have 
wished  with  the  depth  of  their  religious  fervour." 

"They  are  sincere  now — more  especially  Hanky — 
but  I  cannot  think  I  am  judging  them  harshly,  if  I 
say  that  they  were  not  so  at  first.  Even  now,  I  fear, 
that  they  are  more  carnally  than  spiritually  minded. 
See  how  they  have  fought  for  the  aggrandisement  of 
their  own  order.  It  is  mainly  their  doing  that  the 
Musical  Banks  have  usurped  the  spiritual  authority 
formerly  exercised  by  the  straighteners." 


Mr.  Balmy  157 

"But  the  straighteners,"  said  my  father,  "could  not 
co-exist  with  Sunchildism,  and  it  is  hard  to  see  how 
the  claims  of  the  Banks  can  be  reasonably  gainsaid." 

"Perhaps ;  and  after  all  the  Banks  are  our  main  bul- 
wark against  the  evils  that  I  fear  will  follow  from  the 
repeal  of  the  laws  against  machinery.  This  has 
already  led  to  the  development  of  a  materialism  which 
minimizes  the  miraculous  element  in  the  Sunchild's 
ascent,  as  our  own  people  minimize  the  material  means 
that  were  the  necessary  prologue  to  the  miraculous." 

Thus  did  they  converse ;  but  I  will  not  pursue  their 
conversation  further.  It  will  be  enough  to  say  that  in 
further  floods  of  talk  Mr.  Balmy  confirmed  what 
George  had  said  about  the  Banks  having  lost  their  hold 
upon  the  masses.  That  hold  was  weak  even  in  the 
time  of  my  father's  first  visit ;  but  when  the  people  saw 
the  hostility  of  the  Banks  to  a  movement  which  far  the 
greater  number  of  them  accepted,  it  seemed  as  though 
both  Bridgeford  and  the  Banks  were  doomed,  for 
I'ridgeford  was  heart  and  soul  with  the  Banks. 
Hanky,  it  appeared,  though  under  thirty,  and  not  yet 
a  Professor,  grasped  the  situation,  and  saw  that 
Bridgeford  must  either  move  with  the  times,  or  go. 
He  consulted  some  of  the  most  sagacious  Heads  of 
Houses  and  Professors,  with  the  result  that  a  com- 
mittee of  enquiry  was  appointed,  which  in  due  course 
reported  that  the  evidence  for  the  Sunchild's  having 
been  the  only  child  of  the  sun  was  conclusive.  It  was 
alxnit  this  time — that  is  to  say  some  three  years  after 
his  ascent — that  "Higgism,"  as  it  had  been  hitherto 
been  called,  became  "Sunchildism,"  and  "Higgs"  the 
"Sunchild." 

My  father  also  learned  the  King's  fury  at  his  escape 


158  Erewhon  Revisited 

(for  he  would  call  it  nothing  else)  with  my  mother. 
This  was  so  great  that  though  he  had  hitherto  been, 
and  had  ever  since  proved  himself  to  be,  a  humane 
ruler,  he  ordered  the  instant  execution  of  all  who  had 
been  concerned  in  making  either  the  gas  or  the  balloon; 
and  his  cruel  orders  were  carried  out  within  a  couple 
of  hours.  At  the  same  time  he  ordered  the  destruction 
by  fire  of  the  Queen's  workshops,  and  of  all  remnants 
of  any  materials  used  in  making  the  balloon.  It  is  said 
the  Queen  was  so  much  grieved  and  outraged  (for  it 
was  her  doing  that  the  material  groundwork,  so  to 
speak,  had  been  provided  for  the  miracle)  that  she 
wept  night  and  day  without  ceasing  three  whole 
months,  and  never  again  allowed  her  husband  to  em- 
brace her,  till  he  had  also  embraced  Simchildism. 

When  the  rain  came,  public  indignation  at  the 
King's  action  was  raised  almost  to  revolution  pitch, 
and  the  King  was  frightened  at  once  by  the  arrival  of 
the  promised  downfall  and  the  displeasure  of  his  sub- 
jects. But  he  still  held  out,  and  it  was  only  after  con- 
cessions on  the  part  of  the  Bridgeford  committee,  that 
he  at  last  consented  to  the  absorption  of  Sunchildism 
into  the  Musical  Bank  system,  and  to  its  establish- 
ment as  the  religion  of  the  country.  The  far-reaching 
changes  in  Erewhonian  institutions  with  which  the 
reader  is  already  acquainted  followed  as  a  matter  of 
course. 

"I  know  the  difficulty,"  said  my  father  presently, 
"with  which  the  King  was  persuaded  to  allow  the  way 
in  which  the  Sunchild's  dress  should  be  worn  to  be  a 
matter  of  opinion,  not  dogma.  I  see  we  have  adopted 
different  fashions.  Have  you  any  decided  opinions 
upon  the  subject?" 


Mr.  Balmy  159 

"I  have ;  but  I  will  ask  you  not  to  press  me  for  them. 
Let  this  matter  remain  as  the  King  has  left  it." 

My  father  thought  that  he  might  now  venture  on  a 
shot.  So  he  said,  "I  have  always  understood,  too,  that 
the  King  forced  the  repeal  of  the  laws  against  ma- 
chinery on  the  Bridge  ford  committee,  as  another  con- 
dition of  his  assent?" 

"Certainly.  He  insisted  on  this,  partly  to  gratify  the 
Queen,  who  had  not  yet  forgiven  him,  and  who  had 
set  her  heart  on  having  a  watch,  and  partly  because  he 
expected  that  a  development  of  the  country's  resources, 
in  consequence  of  a  freer  use  of  machinery,  would 
bring  more  money  into  his  exchequer.  Bridge  ford 
fought  hard  and  wisely  here,  but  they  had  gained  so 
much  by  the  Musical  Bank  Managers  being  recognised 
as  the  authorised  exponents  of  Sunchildism,  that  they 
thought  it  wise  to  yield — apparently  wnth  a  good 
grace — and  thus  gild  the  pill  which  his  Majesty  was 
about  to  swallow.  But  even  then  they  feared  the  con- 
sequences that  are  already  beginning  to  appear,  and 
which,  if  I  mistake  not,  will  assume  far  more  serious 
proportions  in  the  future." 

"See,"  said  my  father  suddenly,  we  are  coming  to 
another  procession,  and  they  have  got  some  banners; 
let  us  walk  a  little  quicker  and  overtake  it." 

"Horrible!"  replied  Mr.  Balmy  fiercely.  "You  must 
be  short-sighted,  or  you  could  never  have  called  my 
attention  to  it.  Let  us  get  it  behind  us  as  fast  as  pos- 
sible, and  not  so  much  as  look  at  it." 

"Oh,  yes,  yes,"  .said  my  father,  "it  is  indeed  horrible, 
I  had  not  seen  what  it  was." 

He  had  not  the  faintest  idea  what  the  matter  was, 
but  he  let  Mr.  Balmy  walk  a  little  ahead  of  him,  so 


l6o  Erewhon  Revisited 

that  he  could  see  the  banners,  the  most  important  of 
which  he  found  to  display  a  balloon  pure  and  simple, 
with  one  figure  in  the  car.  True,  at  the  top  of  the 
banner  there  was  a  smudge  which  might  be  taken  for 
a  little  chariot,  and  some  very  little  horses,  but  the 
balloon  was  the  only  thing  insisted  on.  As  for  the 
procession,  it  consisted  entirely  of  men,  whom  a 
smaller  banner  announced  to  be  workn>en  from  the 
Fairmead  iron  and  steel  works.  There  was  a  third 
banner,  which  said,  "Science  as  well  as  Sunchildism." 


CHAPTER    XV 

THE  TEMPLE  IS  DEDICATED  TO  MY  FATHER,  AND  CER- 
TAIN EXTRACTS  ARE  READ  FROM  HIS  SUPPOSED 
SAYINGS 

"It  is  enough  to  break  one's  heart,"  said  Mr. 
Balmy  when  he  had  outstripped  the  procession,  and 
my  father  was  again  beside  him.  "  *As  well  as,'  in- 
deed !  We  know  what  that  means.  Wherever  there  is 
a  factory  there  is  a  hot-bed  of  unbelief.  'As  well  as' ! 
Why  it  is  a  defiance." 

"What,  I  wonder,"  said  my  father  innocently, 
"must  the  Sunchild's  feelings  be,  as  he  looks  down 
on  this  procession.  For  there  can  be  little  doubt 
that  he  is  doing  so." 

"There  can  be  no  doubt  at  all,"  replied  Mr.  Balmy, 
"that  he  is  taking  note  of  it,  and  of  all  else  that  is  hap- 
pening this  day  in  Erewhon.  Heaven  grant  that  he  be 
not  so  angered  as  to  chastise  the  innocent  as  well  as 
the  guilty." 

"I  doubt,"  said  my  father,  "his  being  so  angry  even 
with  this  procession,  as  you  think  he  is." 

Here,  fearing  an  outburst  of  indignation,  he  found 
an  excuse  for  rapidly  changing  the  conversation. 
Moreover  he  was  angry  with  himself  for  playing  upon 
this  poor  good  creature.  He  had  not  done  so  of  malice 
prepense;  he  had  bt-gun  to  deceive  him,  because  he 
believed  himself  to  be  in  danger  if  he  spoke  the  truth; 

I6i 


i62  Erewhon  Revisited 

and  tliough  he  knew  the  part  to  be  an  unworthy  one, 
he  could  not  escape  from  continuing  to  play  it,  if  he 
was  to  discover  things  that  he  was  not  likely  to  dis- 
cover otherw  ise. 

Often,  however,  he  had  checked  himself.  It  had 
been  on  the  tip  of  his  tongue  to  be  illuminated  with 
the  words, 

Sukoh  and  Sukop  were  two  pretty  men, 
They  lay  in  bed  till  the  clock  struck  ten, 

and  to  follow  it  up  with. 

Now  with  the  drops  of  this  most  Yknarc  time 
My  love   looks   fresh, 

in  order  to  see  how  Mr.  Balmy  would  interpret  the 
assertion  here  made  about  the  Professors,  and  what 
statement  he  would  connect  with  his  own  Erewhonian 
name;  but  he  had  restrained  himself. 

The  more  he  saw,  and  the  more  he  heard,  the  more 
shocked  he  was  at  the  mischief  he  had  done.  See  how 
he  had  unsettled  the  little  mind  this  poor,  dear,  good 
gentleman  had  ever  had,  till  he  was  now  a  mere  slave 
to  preconception.  And  how  many  more  had  he  not 
in  like  manner  brought  to  the  verge  of  idiocy?  How 
many  again  had  he  not  made  more  corrupt  than  they 
were  before,  even  though  he  had  not  deceived  them — 
as  for  example,  Hanky  and  Panky.  And  the  young? 
how  could  such  a  lie  as  that  a  chariot  and  four  horses 
came  down  out  of  the  clouds  enter  seriously  into  the 
life  of  any  one,  without  distorting  his  mental  vision, 
if  not  ruining  it? 

And  yet,  the  more  he  reflected,  the  more  he  also  saw 


The  Dedication  163 

that  he  could  do  no  good  by  saying  who  he  was.  Mat- 
ters had  gone  so  far  that  though  he  spoke  with  the 
tongues  of  men  and  angels  he  would  not  be  listened 
to;  and  even  if  he  were,  it  might  easily  prove  that  he 
had  added  harm  to  that  which  he  had  done  already. 
No.  As  soon  as  he  had  heard  Hanky's  sermon,  he 
would  begin  to  work  his  way  back,  and  if  the  Profes- 
sors had  not  yet  removed  their  purchase,  he  would 
recover  it;  but  he  would  pin  a  bag  containing  about 
five  pounds  worth  of  nuggets  on  to  the  tree  in  which 
they  had  hidden  it,  and,  if  possible,  he  would  find 
some  way  of  sending  the  rest  to  George. 

He  let  Mr.  Balmy  continue  talking,  glad  that  this 
gentleman  required  little  more  than  monosyllabic  ans- 
wers, and  still  more  glad,  in  spite  of  some  agitation, 
to  see  that  they  were  now  nearing  Sunch'ston,  towards 
which  a  great  concourse  of  people  was  hurrying  from 
Clearwater,  and  more  distant  towns  on  the  main  road. 
Many  whole  families  were  coming, — the  fathers  and 
mothers  carrying  the  smaller  children,  and  also  their 
own  shoes  and  stockings,  which  they  would  put  on 
when  nearing  the  town.  Most  of  the  pilgrims  brought 
provisions  with  them.  All  wore  European  costumes, 
but  only  a  few  of  them  wore  it  reversed,  and  these 
were  almost  invariably  of  higher  social  status  than  the 
great  body  of  the  people,  who  were  mainly  peasants. 

When  they  reached  the  town,  my  fatlicr  was  re- 
lieved at  finding  that  Mr.  Balmy  had  friends  on  whom 
he  wished  to  call  before  going  to  the  temple.  He 
asked  my  father  to  come  with  him,  but  my  father  said 
that  he  too  had  friends,  and  would  leave  him  for  the 
present,  while  hoping  to  meet  him  again  later  in  the 
day.      The  two,    therefore,   shof)k   hands   with   great 


164 


Erewhon  Revisited 


effusion,  and  went  their  several  ways.  My  father's 
way  took  him  first  into  a  confectioner's  shop,  where 
he  bought  a  couple  of  Sunchild  buns,  which  he  put 
into  his  pocket,  and  refreshed  himself  with  a  bottle 
of  Sunchild  cordial  and  water.  All  shops  except  those 
dealing  in  refreshments  were  closed,  and  the  town  was 
gaily  decorated  with  flags  and  flowers,  often  fes- 
tooned into  words  or  emblems  proper  for  the  occasion. 

My  father,  it  being  now  a  quarter  to  eleven,  made 
his  way  towards  the  temple,  and  his  heart  was  clouded 
with  care  as  he  walked  along.  Not  only  was  his  heart 
clouded,  but  his  brain  also  was  oppressed,  and  he 
reeled  so  much  on  leaving  the  confectioner's  shop,  that 
he  had  to  catch  hold  of  some  railings  till  the  faintness 
and  giddiness  left  him.  He  knew  the  feeling  to  be 
the  same  as  what  he  had  felt  on  the  Friday  evening, 
but  he  had  no  idea  of  the  cause,  and  as  soon  as  the 
giddiness  left  him  he  thought  there  was  nothing  the 
matter  with  him. 

Turning  down  a  side  street  that  led  into  the  main 
square  of  the  town,  he  found  himself  opposite  the 
south  end  of  the  temple,  with  its  two  lofty  towers  that 
flanked  the  richly  decorated  main  entrance.  I  will  not 
attempt  to  describe  the  architecture,  for  my  father 
could  give  me  little  information  on  this  point.  He 
saw  only  the  south  front  for  two  or  three  minutes, 
and  was  not  impressed  by  it,  save  in  so  far  as  it  was 
richly  ornamented — evidently  at  great  expense — and 
very  large.  Even  if  he  had  had  a  longer  look,  I  doubt 
whether  I  should  have  got  more  out  of  him,  for  he 
knew  nothing  of  architecture,  and  I  fear  his  test 
whether  a  building  was  good  or  bad,  was  whether  it 
looked  old  and  weather-beaten  or  no.   No  matter  what 


o' 


tr 


9< 


/ 


o' 
o' 

=3= 

1 — ~~] 

k 

o' 

o' 

0' 

=0= 

— A — 

=C= 





s 


51 


i^L^ 


K 


HW: 


A. 


Tab!c  with  cashier's  seat  on 
either  side.and  alms-box  in 
front.  The  picture  is  ex- 
hibited on  a  scaffolding  be- 
hind it. 

The  reliquary. 

The  President's  chair. 

Pulpit  and  lectern. 

>  Side  doors. 


i.  Yram's  seat. 

k.  Scats  of  George  and  the  Sun- 
child. 

o'  Pillars. 

j^.D.C.  D,  E,  F,  G,  H,  blocks 
of  scats. 

/.  Steps  leading  from  the  apse 
to  the  nnvc. 

/f  and  L.  Towers. 

M.  S(ei)6  ajid  main  cn- 
IruDcc. 

A'.  Robing-room, 


165 


1 66  Erewhon  Revisited 

a  building  was,  if  it  was  three  or  four  hundred  years 
old  he  liked  it,  whereas,  if  it  was  new,  he  would  look 
to  nothing  but  whether  it  kept  the  rain  out.  Indeed  I 
have  heard  him  say  that  the  medicTval  sculpture  on 
some  of  our  great  cathedrals  often  only  pleases  us  be- 
cause time  and  weather  have  set  their  seals  upon  it, 
and  that  if  we  could  see  it  as  it  was  when  it  left  the 
mason's  hands,  we  would  find  it  no  better  than  much 
that  is  now  turned  out  in  the  Euston  Road. 

The  ground  plan  here  given  will  help  the  reader  to 
understand  the  few  following  pages  more  easily. 

The  building  was  led  up  to  by  a  fiight  of  steps  (M), 
and  on  entering  it  my  father  found  it  to  consist  of  a 
spacious  nave,  with  two  aisles  and  an  apse  which  was 
raised  some  three  feet  above  the  nave  and  aisles. 
There  were  no  transepts.  In  the  apse  there  was  the 
table  (a),  with  the  two  bowls  of  Musical  Bank 
money  mentioned  on  an  earlier  page,  as  also  the  alms- 
box  in  front  of  it. 

At  some  little  distance  in  front  of  the  table  stood 
the  President's  chair  (c),  or  I  might  almost  call  it 
throne.  It  was  so  placed  that  his  back  would  be  turned 
towards  the  table,  which  fact  again  shews  that  the 
table  was  not  regarded  as  having  any  greater  sanctity 
than  the  rest  of  the  temple. 

Behind  the  table,  the  picture  already  spoken  of  was 
raised  aloft.  There  was  no  balloon ;  some  clouds  that 
hung  about  the  lower  part  of  the  chariot  served  to 
conceal  the  fact  that  the  painter  was  uncertain  whether 
it  ought  to  have  wheels  or  no.  The  horses  were  with- 
out driver,  and  my  father  thought  that  some  one 
ought  to  have  had  them  in  hand,  for  they  were  in  far 
too  excited  a  state  to  be  left  safely  to  themselves. 


The  Dedication  167 

They  had  hardly  any  harness,  but  what  little  there 
was  was  enriched  with  gold  bosses.  My  mother  was 
in  Erewhonian  costume,  my  father  in  European,  but 
he  wore  his  clothes  reversed.  Both  he  and  my  mother 
seemed  to  be  bowing  graciously  to  an  unseen  crowd 
beneath  them,  and  in  the  distance,  near  the  bottom  of 
the  picture,  was  a  fairly  accurate  representation  of  the 
Sunch'ston  new  temple.  High  up,  on  the  right  hand, 
was  a  disc,  raised  and  gilt,  to  represent  the  sun;  on 
it,  in  low  relief,  there  was  an  indication  of  a  gorgeous 
palace,  in  which,  no  doubt,  the  sun  was  supposed  to 
live ;  though  how  they  made  it  all  out  my  father  could 
not  conceive. 

On  the  right  of  the  table  there  was  a  reliquary  (b) 
of  glass,  much  adorned  with  gold,  or  more  probably 
gilding,  for  gold  was  so  scarce  in  Erewhon  that  gild- 
ing would  be  as  expensive  as  a  thin  plate  of  gold 
would  be  in  Europe :  but  there  is  no  knowing.  The 
reliquary  was  attached  to  a  portable  stand  some  five 
feet  high,  and  inside  it  was  the  relic  already  referred 
to.  The  crowd  was  so  great  that  my  father  could 
not  get  near  enough  to  see  what  it  contained,  but  I 
may  say  here,  that  when,  two  days  later,  circumstances 
compelled  him  to  have  a  close  look  at  it,  he  saw  that  it 
consisted  of  about  a  dozen  fine  coprolites,  deposited  by 
some  antediluvian  creature  or  creatures,  which,  what- 
ever el.se  they  may  have  been,  were  certainly  not 
horses. 

In  the  apse  there  were  a  few  cross  benches  (G  and 
H)  on  either  side,  with  an  open  .space  between  them, 
which  was  partly  occupied  by  the  I'resident's  seat  al- 
ready mentioned.  Those  on  the  right,  as  one  looked 
towards  the  apse,  were  for  the  Managers  and  Cashiers 


l68  Erewhon  Revisited 

of  the  Bank,  while  those  on  the  left  were  for  their 
wives  and  daughters. 

In  tlie  centre  of  the  nave,  only  a  few  feet  in  front 
of  the  steps  leading  to  the  apse,  was  a  handsome  pulpit 
and  lectern  (d).  The  pulpit  was  raised  some  feet 
above  the  ground,  and  was  so  roomy  that  the  preacher 
could  walk  about  in  it.  On  either  side  of  it  there  were 
cross  benches  with  backs  (E  and  F)  ;  those  on  the 
right  were  reserved  for  the  Mayor,  civic  functionaries, 
and  distinguished  visitors,  while  those  on  the  left  were 
for  their  wives  and  daughters. 

Benches  with  backs  (A,  B,  C,  D)  were  placed  about 
half-way  down  both  nave  and  aisles — those  in  the 
nave  being  divided  so  as  to  allow  a  free  passage  be- 
tween them.  The  rest  of  the  temple  was  open  space, 
about  which  people  might  walk  at  their  will.  There 
were  side  doors  (e,  g,  and  /,  ]%)  at  the  upper  and 
lower  end  of  each  aisle.  Over  the  main  entrance  was 
a  gallery  in  which  singers  were  placed. 

As  my  father  was  worming  his  way  among  the 
crowd,  which  was  now  very  dense,  he  was  startled  at 
finding  himself  tapped  lightly  on  the  shoulder,  and 
turning  round  in  alarm  was  confronted  by  the  beaming 
face  of  George. 

"How  do  you  do,  Professor  Panky?"  said  the 
youth — who  had  decided  thus  to  address  him.  "What 
are  you  doing  here  among  the  common  people?  Why 
have  you  not  taken  your  place  in  one  of  the  seats  re- 
served for  our  distinguished  visitors?  I  am  afraid 
they  must  be  all  full  by  this  time,  but  I  will  see  what 
I  can  do  for  you.     Come  with  me." 

"Thank  you,"  said  my  father.     His  heart  beat  so 


The  Dedication  169 

fast  that  this  was  all  he  could  say,  and  he  followed 
meek  as  a  lamb. 

With  some  difficulty  the  two  made  their  way  to 
the  right-hand  corner  seats  of  block  C,  for  every  seat 
in  the  reserved  block  was  taken.  The  places  which 
George  wanted  for  my  father  and  for  himself  were 
already  occupied  by  two  young  men  of  about  eighteen 
and  nineteen,  both  of  them  well-grown,  and  of  pre- 
possessing appearance.  My  father  saw  by  the  trun- 
cheons they  carried  that  they  were  special  constables; 
but  he  took  no  notice  of  this,  for  there  were  many 
others  scattered  about  the  crowd.  George  whispered 
a  few  words  to  one  of  them,  and  to  my  father's  sur- 
prise they  both  gave  up  their  seats,  which  appear  on 
the  plan  as  (k). 

It  afterwards  transpired  that  these  two  young  men 
were  George's  brothers,  who  by  his  desire  had  taken 
the  seats  some  hours  ago,  for  it  was  here  that  George 
had  determined  to  place  himself  and  my  father  if  he 
could  find  him.  He  chose  these  places  because  they 
would  be  near  enough  to  let  his  mother  (who  was  at  i, 
in  the  middle  of  the  front  row  of  block  K,  to  the  left 
of  the  pulpit)  see  my  father  without  being  so  near  as 
to  embarrass  him ;  he  could  also  see  and  be  seen  by 
ITanky,  and  hear  every  word  of  his  sermon;  but  per- 
haps his  chief  reason  had  been  the  fact  that  they  were 
not  far  from  the  side-door  at  the  upper  end  of  the 
right-hand  aisle,  while  there  was  no  barrier  to  inter- 
rupt rapid  egress  .should  this  prove  necessary. 

It  was  now  high  time  that  they  should  sit  down, 
which  they  accordingly  did.  George  sat  at  the  end 
of  the  bench,  and  thus  had  my  father  on  his  left.  My 
father  was  rather  uncomfortable  at  seeing  the  young 


170  Erewhon  Revisited 

men  whom  they  had  turned  out,  standing  against  a 
column  close  by,  but  George  said  that  this  was  how 
it  was  to  be,  and  there  was  nothing  to  be  done  but  to 
submit.  The  young  men  seemed  quite  happy,  which 
puzzled  my  father,  who  of  course  had  no  idea  that 
their  action  was  preconcerted. 

Panky  was  in  the  first  row  of  block  F,  so  that  my 
father  could  not  see  his  face  except  sometimes  when  he 
turned  round.  He  was  sitting  on  the  Mayor's  right 
hand,  while  Dr.  Downie  was  on  his  left ;  he  looked  at 
my  father  once  or  twice  in  a  puzzled  way,  as  though 
he  ought  to  have  known  him,  but  my  father  did  not 
think  he  recognised  him.  Hanky  was  still  with  Presi- 
dent Gurgoyle  and  others  in  the  robing-room,  N; 
Yram  had  already  taken  her  seat :  my  father  knew  her 
in  a  moment,  though  he  pretended  not  to  do  so  when 
George  pointed  her  out  to  him.  Their  eyes  met  for  a 
second;  Yram  turned  hers  quickly  away,  and  my 
father  could  not  see  a  trace  of  recognition  in  her  face. 
At  no  time  during  the  whole  ceremony  did  he  catch 
her  looking  at  him  again. 

"Why,  you  stupid  man,"  she  said  to  him  later  on  in 
the  day  with  a  quick,  kindly  smile,  "I  was  looking  at 
you  all  the  time.  As  soon  as  the  President  or  Hanky 
began  to  talk  about  you  I  knew  you  would  stare  at 
him,  and  then  I  could  look.  As  soon  as  they  left  off 
talking  about  you  I  knew  you  would  be  looking  at  me, 
unless  you  went  to  sleep — and  as  I  did  not  know  which 
you  might  be  doing,  I  waited  till  they  began  to  talk 
about  you  again." 

My  father  had  hardly  taken  note  of  his  surround- 
ings when  the  choir  began  singing,  accompanied  by 
a  few  feeble  flutes  and  lutes,  or  whatever  the  name 


The  Dedication  171 

of  the  instrument  should  be,  but  with  no  violins,  for 
he  knew  nothing  of  the  violin,  and  had  not  been  able 
to  teach  the  Erewhonians  anything  about  it.  The 
voices  were  all  in  unison,  and  the  tune  they  sang  was 
one  which  my  father  had  taught  Yram  to  sing;  but 
he  could  not  catch  the  words. 

As  soon  as  the  singing  began,  a  procession,  headed 
by  the  venerable  Dr.  Gurgoyle,  President  of  the  Mu- 
sical Banks  of  the  province,  began  to  issue  from  the 
robing-room,  and  move  towards  the  middle  of  the 
apse.  The  President  was  sumptuously  dressed,  but 
he  wore  no  mitre,  nor  anything  to  suggest  an  English 
or  European  Bishop.  The  Vice-President,  Head 
Manager,  Vice-Manager,  and  some  Cashiers  of  the 
Bank,  now  ranged  themselves  on  either  side  of  him, 
and  formed  an  impressive  group  as  they  stood,  gor- 
geously arrayed,  at  the  top  of  the  steps  leading  from 
the  apse  to  the  nave.  Here  they  waited  till  the  singers 
left  off  singing. 

When  the  litany,  or  hymn,  or  whatever  it  should  be 
called,  was  over,  the  Head  Manager  left  the  Presi- 
dent's side  and  came  down  to  the  lectern  in  the  nave, 
where  he  announced  himself  as  about  to  read  some 
passages  from  the  Sunchild's  Sayings.  Perhaps  be- 
cause it  was  the  first  day  of  the  year  according  to  their 
new  calendar,  tlie  reading  began  with  the  first  chapter, 
the  whole  of  which  was  read.  My  father  told  me  that 
he  ciuite  well  remcmlx;rcd  having  said  the  last  verse, 
which  he  still  held  as  true;  hardly  a  word  of  the  rest 
was  ever  spoken  by  him,  though  he  recognized  his  own 
influence  in  almost  all  of  it.  The  reader  paused,  with 
good  effect,  for  about  five  seconds  between  each  para- 


172  Erewhon  Revisited 

graph,  and  read  slowly  and  very  clearly.    The  chapter 
was  as  follows : — 


"These  are  the  words  of  the  Sunchild  about  God  and 
man.     He  said — 

1.  God  is  the  baseless  basis  of  all  thoughts,  things,  and 
deeds. 

2.  So  that  those  who  say  that  there  is  a  God,  lie,  unless 
they  also  mean  that  there  is  no  God ;  and  those  who  say  that 
there  is  no  God,  lie,  unless  they  also  mean  that  there  is  a 
God. 

3.  It  is  very  true  to  say  that  man  is  made  after  the 
likeness  of  God;  and  yet  it  is  very  untrue  to  say  this. 

4.  God  lives  and  moves  in  every  atom  throughout  the 
universe.  Therefore  it  is  wrong  to  think  of  Him  as  'Him' 
and  'He/  save  as  by  the  clutching  of  a  drowning  man  at  a 
straw. 

5.  God  is  God  to  us  only  so  long  as  we  cannot  see  him. 
When  we  are  near  to  seeing  Him  He  vanishes,  and  we 
behold  Nature  in  His  stead. 

6.  We  approach  Him  most  nearly  when  we  think  of 
Him  as  our  expression  for  Man's  highest  conception,  of 
goodness,  wisdom,  and  power.  But  we  cannot  rise  to  Him 
above  the  level  of  our  own  highest  selves. 

7.  We  remove  ourselves  most  far  from  Him  when  we 
invest  Him  with  human  form  and  attributes. 

8.  My  father  the  sun,  the  earth,  the  moon,  and  all  planets 
that  roll  round  my  father,  are  to  God  but  as  a  single  cell  in 
our  bodies  to  ourselves. 

9.  He  is  as  much  above  my  father,  as  my  father  is  above 
men  and  women. 

10.  The  universe  is  instinct  with  the  mind  of  God.  The 
mind  of  God  is  in  all  that  has  mind  throughout  all  worlds. 
There  is  no  God  but  the  Universe,  and  man,  in  this  world 
is  His  prophet. 

11.  God's  conscious  life,  nascent,  so  far  as  this  world  is 
concerned,  in  the  infusoria,  adolescent  in  the  higher  mam- 
mals, approaches  maturity  on  this  earth  in  man.  All  these 
living  beings  are  members  one  of  another,  and  of  God. 


The  Dedication  173 

12.  Therefore,  as  man  cannot  live  without  God  in  the 
world,  so  neither  can  God  live  in  this  world  without  man- 
kind. 

13.  If  we  speak  ill  of  God  in  our  ignorance  it  may  be  for- 
given us;  but  if  we  speak  ill  of  His  Holy  Spirit  indwelling 
in  good  men  and  women  it  may  not  be  forgiven  us." 

The  Head  Manager  now  resumed  his  place  by 
President  Gurgoyle's  side,  and  the  President  in  the 
name  of  his  Majesty  the  King  declared  the  temple  to 
be  hereby  dedicated  to  the  contemplation  of  the  Sun- 
child  and  the  better  exposition  of  his  teaching.  This 
was  all  that  was  said.  The  reliquary  was  then  brought 
forward  and  placed  at  the  top  of  the  steps  leading 
from  the  apse  to  the  nave;  but  the  original  intention 
of  carrying  it  round  the  temple  was  abandoned  for 
fear  of  accidents  through  tlie  pressure  round  it  of  the 
enormous  multitudes  who  were  assembled.  More 
singing  followed  of  a  simple  but  impressive  kind;  dur- 
ing this  I  am  afraid  I  must  own  that  my  father,  tired 
with  his  walk,  dropped  off  into  a  refreshing  slumber, 
from  which  he  did  not  wake  till  George  nudged  him 
and  told  him  not  to  snore,  just  as  the  Vice-Manager 
was  going  towards  the  lectern  to  read  another  chapter 
of  the  Sunchild's  Sayings — which  was  as  follows: — 

The  Sunchild  also  spoke  to  us  a  parable  about  the  unwis- 
dom of  the  children  yet  unborn,  who  though  they  know  so 
much,  yet  do  not  know  as  much  as  they  think  they  do. 

He  said: — 

"The  unborn  have  knowledge  of  one  another  so  long  as 
they  arc  unborn,  and  this  witliout  impediment  from  walls  or 
material  obstacles.  The  unborn  children  in  any  city  form 
a  population  apart,  who  talk  with  one  another  anrl  toll  each 
other  about  their  devcln])mcntal  progress. 

"They  have  no  knowledge,  and  cannot  even  conceive  the 


174  Erewhon  Revisited 


existence  of  anything  that  is  not  such  as  they  are  themselves. 
Those  who  have  been  born  are  to  them  what  the  dead  are 
to  us.  They  can  see  no  life  in  them,  and  know  no  more 
about  them  than  they  do  of  any  stage  in  their  own  past 
development  other  than  the  one  through  which  they  are 
passing  at  the  moment.  They  do  not  even  know  that  their 
mothers  are  alive — much  less  that  their  mothers  were  once 
as  they  now  are.  To  an  embryo,  its  mother  is  simply  the 
environment,  and  is  looked  upon  much  as  our  inorganic  sur- 
roundings are  by  ourselves. 

"The  great  terror  of  their  lives  is  the  fear  of  birth, — 
that  they  shall  have  to  leave  the  only  thing  that  they  can 
think  of  as  life,  and  enter  upon  a  dark  unknown  which  is 
to  them  tantamount  to  annihilation. 

"Some,  indeed,  among  them  have  maintained  that  birth 
is  not  the  death  which  they  commonly  deem  it,  but  that 
there  is  a  life  beyond  the  womb  of  which  they  as  yet  know 
nothing,  and  which  is  a  million  fold  more  truly  life  than 
anything  they  have  yet  been  able  even  to  imagine.  But  the 
greater  number  shake  their  yet  unfashioned  heads  and  say 
they  have  no  evidence  for  this  that  will  stand  a  moment's 
examination. 

"  'Nay,'  answer  the  others,  'so  much  work,  so  elaborate, 
so  wondrous  as  that  whereon  we  are  now  so  busily  engaged 
must  have  a  purpose,  though  the  purpose  is  beyond  our 
grasp.' 

"  'Never,'  reply  the  first  speakers ;  'our  pleasure  in  the 
work  is  sufficient  justification  for  it.  Who  has  ever  par- 
taken of  this  life  you  speak  of,  and  re-entered  into  the  womb 
to  tell  us  of  it?  Granted  that  some  few  have  pretended  to 
have  done  this,  but  how  completely  have  their  stories  broken 
down  when  subjected  to  the  tests  of  sober  criticism.  No. 
When  we  are  born  we  are  born,  and  there  is  an  end  of  us.' 

"But  in  the  hour  of  birth,  when  they  can  no  longer  re- 
enter the  womb  and  tell  the  others.  Behold !  they  find  that 
it  is  not  so." 

Here  the  reader  again  closed  his  book  and  resumed 
his  place  in  the  apse. 


CHAPTER    XVI 

PROFESSOR  HANKY  PREACHES  A  SERMON,  IN  THE 
COURSE  OF  WHICH  MY  FATHER  DECLARES  HIM- 
SELF TO  BE  THE  SUNCHILD 

Professor  Hanky  then  went  up  into  the  pulpit, 
richly  but  soberly  robed  in  vestments  the  exact  nature 
of  which  I  cannot  determine.  His  carriage  was  dig- 
nified, and  the  harsh  lines  on  his  face  gave  it  a  strong 
individuality,  which,  though  it  did  not  attract,  con- 
veyed an  impression  of  power  tliat  could  not  fail  to 
interest.  As  soon  as  he  had  given  attention  time  to 
fix  itself  upon  him,  he  began  his  sermon  without  text 
or  preliminary  matter  of  any  kind,  and  apparently 
without  notes. 

He  spoke  clearly  and  very  quietly,  especially  at  the 
beginning;  he  used  action  whenever  it  could  point  his 
meaning,  or  give  life  and  colour,  but  there  was  no 
approach  to  staginess  or  even  oratorical  display.  In 
fact,  he  spoke  as  one  who  meant  what  he  was  saying, 
and  desired  that  his  hearers  should  accept  his  mean- 
ing, fully  confident  in  his  good  faith.  His  use  of 
pause  was  effective.  After  the  word  "mistake,"  at  the 
end  of  the  opening  sentence,  he  held  up  his  half-bent 
hand  and  paused  for  full  three  seconds,  looking  in- 
tently at  his  audience  as  he  did  so.  Every  one  felt  the 
idea  to  be  here  enounced  that  was  to  dominate  the 
sermon. 

175 


176  Erewhon  Revisited 

The  sermon — so  much  of  it  as  I  can  find  room  for 
— was  as  follows  : — 

"My  friends,  let  there  be  no  mistake.  At  such  a 
time,  as  this,  it  is  well  we  should  look  back  upon  the 
path  by  which  we  have  travelled,  and  forward  to  the 
goal  towards  which  we  are  tending.  As  it  was  neces- 
sary that  the  material  foundations  of  this  building 
should  be  so  sure  that  there  shall  be  no  subsidence  in 
the  superstructure,  so  is  it  not  less  necessary  to  ensure 
that  there  shall  be  no  subsidence  in  the  immaterial 
structure  that  we  have  raised  in  consequence  of  the 
Sunchild's  sojourn  among  us.  Therefore,  my  friends, 
I  again  say,  'Let  there  be  no  mistake/  Each  stone  that 
goes  towards  the  uprearing  of  this  visible  fane,  each, 
human  soul  that  does  its  part  in  building  the  invisible 
temple  of  our  national  faith,  is  bearing  witness  to,  and 
lending  its  support  to,  that  which  is  either  the  truth 
of  truths,  or  the  baseless  fabric  of  a  dream. 

"My  friends,  this  is  the  only  possible  alternative. 
He  in  whose  name  we  are  here  assembled,  is  either 
worthy  of  more  reverential  honour  than  we  can  ever 
pay  him,  or  he  is  worthy  of  no  more  honour  than 
any  other  honourable  man  among  ourselves.  There 
can  be  no  halting  between  these  two  opinions.  The 
question  of  questions  is,  was  he  the  child  of  the 
tutelary  god  of  this  world — the  sun,  and  is  it  to  the 
palace  of  the  sun  that  he  returned  when  he  left  us,  or 
was  he,  as  some  amongst  us  still  do  not  hesitate  to 
maintain,  a  mere  man,  escaping  by  unusual  but  strictly 
natural  means  to  some  part  of  this  earth  with  which 
we  are  unacquainted.  My  friends,  either  we  are  on 
a  right  path  or  on  a  very  wrong  one,  and  in  a  matter 


Prof.  Hanky's  Sermon  177 

of  such  supreme  importance — there  must  be  no  mis- 
take. 

"I  need  not  remind  those  of  you  whose  privilege 
it  is  to  hve  in  Sunch'ston,  of  the  charm  attendant  on 
the  Sunchild's  personal  presence  and  conversation, 
nor  of  his  quick  sympathy,  his  keen  intellect,  his  readi- 
ness to  adapt  himself  to  the  capacities  of  all  those  who 
came  to  see  him  while  he  was  in  prison.  He  adored 
children,  and  it  was  on  them  that  some  of  his  most 
conspicuous  miracles  were  performed.  Many  a  time 
when  a  child  had  fallen  and  hurt  itself,  was  he  known 
to  make  the  place  well  by  simply  kissing  it.  Nor  need 
I  recall  to  your  minds  the  spotless  purity  of  his  life — 
so  spotless  that  not  one  breath  of  slander  has  ever 
dared  to  visit  it.  I  was  one  of  the  not  very  many  who 
had  the  privilege  of  being  admitted  to  the  inner  circle 
of  his  friends  during  the  later  weeks  that  he  was 
amongst  us.  I  loved  him  dearly,  and  it  will  ever  be 
the  proudest  recollection  of  my  life  that  he  deigned  to 
return  me  no  small  measure  of  affection." 

My  father,  furious  as  he  was  at  finding  himself 
dragged  into  complicity  with  this  man's  imposture, 
could  not  resist  a  smile  at  the  effrontery  with  which 
he  lowered  his  tone  here,  and  appeared  unwilling  to 
dwell  on  an  incident  which  he  could  not  recall  without 
Ix^ing  affected  ahnost  to  tears,  and  mere  allusion  to 
which  had  involved  an  apparent  self -display  that  was 
above  all  things  repugnant  to  him.  What  a  difference 
between  the  Hanky  of  Thursday  evening  with  its 
"never  set  eyes  on  him  and  hope  I  never  shall,"  and 
the  Hanky  of  Sunday  morning,  who  now  looked  as 
modest  as  Cleopatra  might  have  done  had  she  been 


178 


Erewhon  Revisited 


standing  godmother  to  a  little  blue-eyed  girl — ^Bellero- 
phon's  first-born  baby. 

Having  recovered  from  his  natural,  but  promptly 
repressed,  emotion,  the  Professor  continued : — 

"I  need  not  remind  you  of  the  purpose  for  which 
so  many  of  us,  from  so  many  parts  of  owr  kingdom, 
are  here  assembled.  We  know  what  we  have  come 
hither  to  do :  we  are  come  each  one  of  us  to  sign  and 
seal  by  his  presence  the  bond  of  his  assent  to  those 
momentous  Changes,  which  have  found  their  first 
great  material  expression  in  the  temple  that  you  see 
around  you. 

"You  all  know  how,  in  accordance  with  the  ex- 
pressed will  of  the  Sunchild,  the  Presidents  and 
Vice-Presidents  of  the  Musical  Banks  began  as  soon 
as  he  had  left  us  to  examine,  patiently,  carefully, 
earnestly,  and  without  bias  of  any  kind,  firstly  the 
evidences  in  support  of  the  Sunchild's  claim  to  be  the 
son  of  the  tutelar  deity  of  this  world,  and  secondly 
the  precise  nature  of  his  instructions  as  regards  the 
future  position  and  authority  of  the  Musical  Banks. 

"My  friends,  it  is  easy  to  understand  why  the  Sun- 
child  should  have  given  us  these  instructions.  With 
that  foresight  which  is  the  special  characteristic  of 
divine,  as  compared  with  human,  wisdom,  he  desired 
that  the  evidences  in  support  of  his  superhuman  char- 
acter should  be  collected,  sifted,  and  placed  on  record, 
before  anything  was  either  lost  through  the  death  of 
those  who  could  alone  substantiate  it,  or  unduly  sup- 
plied through  the  enthusiasm  of  over-zealous  vision- 
aries. The  greater  any  true  miracle  has  been,  the  more 
certainly  will  false  ones  accrete  round  it;  here,  then, 
we  find  the  explanation  of  the  command  the  Sunchild 


Prof.  Hanky's  Sermon  179 

gave  to  us  to  gather,  verify,  and  record,  the  facts  of 
his  sojourn  here  in  Erewhon.  For  above  all  things 
he  held  it  necessary  to  ensure  that  there  should  be 
neither  mistake,  nor  even  possibility  of  mistake. 

"Consider  for  a  moment  what  differences  of 
opinion  would  infallibly  have  arisen,  if  the  evidences 
for  the  miraculous  character  of  the  Sunchild's  mis- 
sion had  been  conflicting — if  they  had  rested  on 
versions  each  claiming  to  be  equally  authoritative,  but 
each  hopelessly  irreconcilable  on  vital  points  with 
every  single  other.  What  would  future  generations 
have  said  in  answer  to  those  who  bade  them  fling  all 
human  experience  to  the  winds,  on  the  strength  of 
records  written  they  knew  not  certainly  by  whom,  nor 
how  long  after  the  marvels  that  they  recorded,  and 
of  which  all  that  could  be  certainly  said  was  that  no 
two  of  them  told  the  same  story? 

"Who  that  believes  either  in  God  or  man — who 
with  any  self-respect,  or  respect  for  the  gift  of  reason 
with  which  God  had  endowed  him,  either  would,  or 
could,  believe  that  a  chariot  and  four  horses  had  come 
down  from  heaven,  and  gone  back  again  with  human 
or  c|uasi-human  occupants,  unless  the  evidences  for 
the  fact  left  no  loophole  for  escape?  If  a  single  loop- 
hole were  left  him,  he  would  be  unpardonable,  not  for 
disbelieving  the  stor)^,  but  for  believing  it.  The  sin 
against  God  would  lie  not  in  want  of  faith,  but  in 
faith. 

"My  friends,  there  arc  two  sins  in  matters  of 
belief.  There  is  that  of  believing  on  too  little  evi- 
dence, and  that  of  rcrjuiring  too  much  before  we  are 
convinced.  The  guilt  of  the  latter  is  incurred,  alas!  by 
not  a  few  amongst  us  at  the  present  day,  but  if  the 


i8o  Erewhon  Revisited 

testimony  to  the  truth  of  the  wondrous  event  so  faith- 
fully depicted  on  the  picture  that  confronts  you  had 
been  less  contemporaneous,  less  authoritative,  less 
unanimous,  future  generations — and  it  is  for  them 
that  we  should  now  provide — would  be  guilty  of  the 
first-named,  and  not  less  heinous  sin  if  they  believed 
at  all. 

"Small  wonder,  then,  that  the  Sunchild,  having 
come  amongst  us  for  our  advantage,  not  his  own, 
would  not  permit  his  beneficent  designs  to  be  endan- 
gered by  the  discrepancies,  mythical  developments, 
idiosyncracies,  and  a  hundred  other  defects  inevitably 
attendant  on  amateur  and  irresponsible  recording. 
Small  wonder,  then,  that  he  should  have  chosen  the 
officials  of  the  Musical  Banks,  from  the  Presidents 
and  Vice-Presidents  downwards  to  be  the  authorita- 
tive exponents  of  his  teaching,  the  depositaries  of  his 
traditions,  and  his  representatives  here  on  earth  till 
he  shall  again  see  fit  to  visit  us.  For  he  will  come. 
Nay  it  is  even  possible  that  he  may  be  here  amongst 
us  at  this  very  moment,  disguised  so  that  none  may 
know  him,  and  intent  only  on  Vv^atching  our  devotion 
towards  him.  If  this  be  so,  let  me  implore  him,  in  the 
name  of  the  sun  his  father,  to  reveal  himself." 

Now  Hanky  had  already  given  my  father  more 
than  one  look  that  had  made  him  uneasy.  He  had 
evidently  recognized  him  as  the  supposed  ranger  of 
last  Thursday  evening.  Twice  he  had  run  his  eye  like 
a  searchlight  over  the  front  benches  opposite  to  him, 
and  when  the  beam  had  reached  my  father  there  had 
been  no  more  searching.  It  was  beginning  to  dawn 
upon  my  father  that  George  might  have  discovered  that 
he  was  not  Professor  Panky;  was  it  for  this  reason 


Prof.  Hanky's  Sermon  l8i 

that  these  two  young  special  constables,  though  they 
gave  up  their  places,  still  kept  so  close  to  him?  Was 
George  only  waiting  his  opportunity  to  arrest  him — ■ 
not  of  course  even  suspecting  who  he  was — but  as  a 
foreign  devil  who  had  tried  to  pass  himself  off  as 
Professor  Panky?  Had  this  been  the  meaning  of  his 
having  followed  him  to  Fairmead?  And  should  he 
have  to  be  thrown  into  the  Blue  Pool  by  George  after 
all.  "It  would  serve  me,"  said  he  to  himself,  "richly 
right." 

These  fears  which  had  been  taking  shape  for  some 
few  minutes  were  turned  almost  to  certainties  by  the 
half -contemptuous  glance  Hanky  threw  towards  him 
as  he  uttered  what  was  obviously  intended  as  a  chal- 
lenge. He  saw  that  all  was  over,  and  was  starting 
to  his  feet  to  declare  himself,  and  thus  fall  into  the 
trap  that  Hanky  was  laying  for  him,  when  George 
gripped  him  tightly  by  the  knee  and  whispered,  "Don't 
— you  are  in  great  danger."  And  he  smiled  kindly  as 
he  spoke. 

My  father  sank  back  dumbfounded.  "You  know 
me?"  he  whispered  in  reply. 

"Perfectly.  So  does  Hanky,  so  does  my  mother; 
say  no  more,"  and  he  again  smiled. 

George,  as  my  father  afterwards  learned,  had  hoped 
that  he  would  reveal  himself,  and  had  determined  in 
spite  of  his  mother's  instructions,  to  give  him  an 
opportunity  of  doing  so.  It  was  for  this  reason  that 
he  had  not  arrested  him  r|uictly,  as  he  could  very  well 
have  done,  before  the  service  lx?gan.  He  wished  to 
discover  what  manner  of  man  his  father  was,  and  was 
quite  happy  as  soon  as  he  saw  that  he  would  have 
spoken  out  if  he  had  not  l>een  checked.     He  had  not 


i82  Erewhon  Revisited 

yet  caught  Hanky's  motive  in  trying  to  goad  my 
father,  but  on  seeing  that  he  was  trying  to  do  this,  he 
knew  that  a  trap  was  being  laid,  and  that  my  father 
must  not  be  allowed  to  speak. 

Almost  immediately,  however,  he  perceived  that 
while  his  eyes  had  been  turned  on  Hanky,  two  burly 
vergers  had  wormed  their  way  through  the  crowd  and 
had  taken  their  stand  close  to  his  two  brothers.  Then 
he  understood,  and  understood  also  how  to  frustrate. 

As  for  my  father,  George's  ascendancy  over  him — 
quite  felt  by  George — was  so  absolute  that  he  could 
think  of  nothing  now  but  the  exceeding  great  joy  of 
finding  his  fears  groundless,  and  of  delivering  himself 
up  to  his  son's  guidance  in  the  assurance  that  the  void 
in  his  heart  was  filled,  and  that  his  wager  not  only 
would  be  held  as  won,  but  was  being  already  paid. 
How  they  had  found  out,  why  he  was  not  to  speak  as 
he  would  assuredly  have  done — for  he  was  in  a  white 
heat  of  fury — what  did  it  all  matter  now  that  he  had 
found  that  which  he  had  feared  he  should  fail  to 
find  ?  He  gave  George  a  puzzled  smile,  and  composed 
himself  as  best  he  could  to  hear  the  continuation  of 
Hanky's  sermon,  which  was  as  follows : — 

"Who  could  the  Sunchild  have  chosen,  even  though 
he  had  been  gifted  with  no  more  than  human  sagacity, 
but  the  body  of  men  whom  he  selected?  It  becomes 
me  but  ill  to  speak  so  warmly  in  favour  of  that  body 
of  whom  I  am  the  least  worthy  member,  but  what 
other  is  there  in  Erewhon  so  above  all  suspicion  of 
slovenliness,  self-seeking,  preconceived  bias,  or  bad 
faith?  If  there  was  one  set  of  qualities  more  essential 
than  another  for  the  conduct  of  the  investigations  en- 
trusted to  us  by  the  Sunchild,  it  was  those  that  turn 


Prof.  Hanky's  Sermon  183 

on  meekness  and  freedom  from  all  spiritual  pride.  I 
believe  I  can  say  quite  truly  that  these  are  the  qualities 
for  which  Bridge  ford  is  more  especially  renowned. 
The  readiness  of  her  Professors  to  learn  even  from 
those  who  at  first  sight  may  seem  least  able  to  instruct 
them — the  gentleness  with  which  they  correct  an  op- 
ponent if  they  feel  it  incumbent  upon  them  to  do  so,  the 
promptitude  with  which  they  acknowledge  error  when 
it  is  pointed  out  to  them  and  quit  a  position  no  matter 
how  deeply  they  have  been  committed  to  it,  at  the  first 
moment  in  which  they  see  that  they  cannot  hold  it 
righteously,  their  delicate  sense  of  honour,  their  utter 
immunity  from  what  the  Sunchild  used  to  call  log- 
rolling or  intrigue,  the  scorn  with  which  they  regard 
anything  like  hitting  below  the  belt — these  I  believe  I 
may  truly  say  are  the  virtues  for  which  Bndgeford 
is  pre-eminently  renowned." 

The  Professor  went  on  to  say  a  great  deal  more 
about  the  fitness  of  Bridgcford  and  the  Musical  Bank 
managers  for  the  task  imposed  on  them  by  the  Sun- 
child,  but  here  my  father's  attention  flagged — nor,  on 
looking  at  the  verbatim  report  of  the  sermon  that  ap- 
peared next  morning  in  the  leading  Sunch'ston  journal, 
do  I  see  reason  to  reproduce  Hanky's  words  on  this 
head.  It  was  all  to  slicw  that  there  had  been  no  pos- 
sibility of  mistake. 

Meanwhile  George  was  writing  on  a  scrap  of  paper 
as  though  he  was  taking  notes  of  the  sermon.  Pres- 
ently he  slipped  this  into  my  father's  hand.     It  ran : — 

"You  .see  those  vergers  standing  near  my  brothers, 
who  gave  up  their  seats  to  us.  Hanky  tried  to  goad 
you  into  speaking  that  they  might  arrest  you,  and  get 
you  into  the   Bank   pri.sons.     If  you   fall   into  their 


184  Erewhon  Revisited 

hands  you  are  lost.  I  must  arrest  you  instantly  on  a 
charge  of  poaching  on  the  King's  preserves,  and  make 
you  my  prisoner.  Let  those  vergers  catch  sight  of  the 
warrant  which  I  shall  now  give  you.  Read  it  and 
return  it  to  me.  Come  with  me  quietly  after  service. 
I  think  you  had  better  not  reveal  yourself  at  all." 

As  soon  as  he  had  given  my  father  time  to  read  the 
foregoing,  George  took  a  warrant  out  of  his  pocket. 
My  father  pretended  to  read  it  and  returned  it.  George 
then  laid  his  hand  on  his  shoulder,  and  in  an  under- 
tone arrested  him.  He  then  wrote  on  another  scrap 
of  paper  and  passed  it  on  to  the  elder  of  his  two 
brothers.  It  was  to  the  effect  that  he  had  now  arrested 
my  father,  and  that  if  the  vergers  attempted  in  any 
way  to  interfere  between  him  and  his  prisoner,  his 
brothers  were  to  arrest  both  of  them,  which,  as  special 
constables,  they  had  power  to  do. 

Yram  had  noted  Hanky's  attempt  to  goad  my 
father,  and  had  not  been  prepared  for  his  stealing  a 
march  upon  her  by  trying  to  get  my  father  arrested 
by  Musical  Bank  officials,  rather  than  by  her  son.  On 
the  preceding  evening  this  last  plan  had  been  arranged 
on ;  and  she  knew  nothing  of  the  note  that  Hanky  had 
sent  an  hour  or  two  later  to  the  Manager  of  the  temple 
— the  substance  of  which  the  reader  can  sufficiently 
guess.  When  she  had  heard  Hanky's  words  and  saw 
the  vergers,  she  was  for  a  few  minutes  seriously 
alarmed,  but  she  was  reassured  when  she  saw  George 
give  my  father  the  warrant,  and  her  two  sons  evi- 
dently explaining  the  position  to  the  vergers. 

Hanky  had  by  this  time  changed  his  theme,  and  was 
warning  his  hearers  of  the  dangers  that  would  follow 
on  the  legalization  of  the  medical  profession,  and  the 


Prof.  Hanky's  Sermon  185 

repeal  of  the  edicts  against  machines.  Space  forbids 
me  to  give  his  picture  of  the  horrible  tortures  that 
future  generations  would  be  put  to  by  medical  men,  if 
these  were  not  duly  kept  in  check  by  the  influence  of 
the  Musical  Banks;  the  horrors  of  the  inquisition  in 
the  middle  ages  are  nothing  to  what  he  depicted  as 
certain  to  ensue  if  medical  men  were  ever  to  have 
much  money  at  their  command.  The  only  people  in 
whose  hands  money  might  be  trusted  safely  were  those 
who  presided  over  the  Musical  Banks.  This  tirade 
was  followed  by  one  not  less  alarming  about  the 
growth  of  materialistic  tendencies  among  the  artisans 
employed  in  the  production  of  mechanical  inventions. 
My  father,  though  his  eyes  had  been  somewhat  opened 
by  the  second  of  the  two  processions  he  had  seen  on 
his  way  to  Sunch'ston,  was  not  prepared  to  find  that 
in  spite  of  the  superficially  almost  universal  accept- 
ance of  the  new  faith,  there  was  a  powerful,  and  it 
would  seem  growing,  undercurrent  of  scepticism,  with 
a  desire  to  reduce  his  escape  with  my  motlier  to  a 
purely  natural  occurence. 

*Tt  is  not  enough,"  said  Hanky,  "that  the  Sunchild 
should  have  ensured  the  preparation  of  authoritative 
evidence  of  his  supernatural  character.  The  evidences 
happily  exist  in  overwhelming  strength,  but  they  must 
be  brought  home  to  minds  that  as  yet  have  stublxDrnly 
refused  to  receive  them.  During  the  last  five  years 
there  has  been  an  enormous  increase  in  the  number  of 
those  whose  occupation  in  the  manufacture  of  ma- 
chines inclines  them  to  a  matcriah'stic  explanation  even 
of  the  most  obviously  miraculous  events,  and  the 
growth  of  this  class  in  our  midst  constituted,  and  still 
constitutes,  a  grave  danger  to  the  state. 


1 86  Erewhon  Revisited 

"It  was  to  meet  this  that  the  society  was  formed  on 
behalf  of  which  I  appeal  fearlessly  to  your  generosity. 
It  is  called,  as  most  of  you  doubtless  know,  the  Sun- 
child  Evidence  Society;  and  his  Majesty  the  King 
graciously  consented  to  become  its  Patron.  This  so- 
ciety not  only  collects  additional  evidences — indeed  it 
is  entirely  due  to  its  labours  that  the  precious  relic 
now  in  this  temple  was  discovered — but  it  is  its  be- 
neficent purpose  to  lay  those  that  have  been  authori- 
tatively investigated  before  men  who,  if  left  to 
themselves,  would  either  neglect  them  altogether,  or 
worse  still  reject  them. 

"For  the  first  year  or  two  the  efiforts  of  the  society 
met  with  but  little  success  among  those  for  whose 
benefit  they  were  more  particularly  intended,  but  dur- 
ing the  present  year  the  working  classes  in  some  cities 
and  towns  (stimulated  very  much  by  the  lectures  of 
my  illustrious  friend  Professor  Panky)  have  shewn  a 
most  remarkable  and  zealous  interest  in  Sunchild  evi- 
dences, and  have  formed  themselves  into  local  branches 
for  the  study  and  defence  of  Sunchild  truth. 

"Yet  in  spite  of  all  this  need — of  all  this  patient 
labour  and  really  very  gratifying  success — the  sub- 
scriptions to  the  society  no  longer  furnish  it  with  its 
former  very  modest  income — an  income  which  is  de- 
plorably insufficient  if  the  organization  is  to  be  kept 
effective,  and  the  work  adequately  performed.  In 
spite  of  the  most  rigid  economy,  the  committee  have 
been  compelled  to  part  with  a  considerable  portion  of 
their  small  reserve  fund  (provided  by  a  legacy)  to 
tide  over  difficulties.  But  this  method  of  balancing 
expenditure  and  income  is  very  unsatisfactory,  and 
cannot  be  long  continued. 


Prof.  Hanky's  Sermon  187 

"I  am  led  to  plead  for  the  society  with  especial  in- 
sistence at  the  present  time,  inasmuch  as  more  than 
one  of  those  whose  unblemished  life  has  made  them 
fitting  recipients  of  such  a  signal  favour,  have  recently 
had  visions  informing  them  that  the  Sunchild  will 
again  shortly  visit  us.  We  know  not  when  he  will 
come,  but  when  he  comes,  my  friends,  let  him  not  find 
us  unmindful  of,  nor  ungrateful  for,  the  inestimable 
sen-ices  he  has  rendered  us.  For  come  he  surely  will. 
Either  in  winter,  what  time  icicles  hang  by  the  wall 
and  milk  comes  frozen  home  in  the  pail — or  in  sum- 
mer when  days  are  at  their  longest  and  the  mowing 
grass  is  about — there  will  be  an  hour,  either  at  mom, 
or  eve,  or  in  the  middle  day,  when  he  will  again  surely 
come.  May  it  be  mine  to  be  among  those  who  are 
then  present  to  receive  him." 

Here  he  again  glared  at  my  father,  whose  blood  was 
boiling.  George  had  not  positively  forbidden  him  to 
speak  out;  he  therefore  sprang  to  his  feet,  "You  lying 
hound,"  he  cried,  "I  am  the  Sunchild,  and  you  know 
it." 

George,  who  knew  that  he  had  my  father  in  his 
own  hands,  made  no  attempt  to  stop  him,  and  was 
delighted  that  he  should  have  declared  himself  though 
he  had  felt  it  his  duty  to  tell  him  not  to  do  so.  Vram 
turned  pale.  Hanky  roared  oul,  "'{'car  him  in  pieces 
— leave  not  a  single  limb  on  his  body.  Take  him  out 
and  bum  him  alive."  The  vergers  made  a  dash  for 
him — but  George's  brothers  seized  them.  The  crowd 
seemed  for  a  moment  inclined  to  do  as  Hanky  bade 
them,  but  Yram  rose  from  her  place,  and  held  up  her 
hand  as  one  who  claimed  attention.  She  advanced 
towards  George  and  my  father  as  unconcernedly  as 


i88  Erewhon  Revisited 

though  she  were  merely  walking  out  of  church,  but 
she  still  held  her  hand  uplifted.  All  eyes  were  turned 
on  her,  as  well  as  on  George  and  my  father,  and  the 
icy  calm  of  her  self-possession  chilled  those  who  were 
inclined  for  the  moment  to  take  Hanky's  words  lit- 
erally. There  was  not  a  trace  of  fluster  in  her  gait, 
action,  or  words,  as  she  said — 

"My  friends,  this  temple,  and  this  day,  must  not  be 
profaned  with  blood.  My  son  will  take  this  poor 
madman  to  the  prison.  Let  him  be  judged  and  pun- 
ished according  to  law.  Make  room,  that  he  and  my 
son  may  pass." 

Then,  turning  to  my  father,  she  said,  "Go  quietly 
with  the  Ranger." 

Having  so  spoken,  she  returned  to  her  seat  as 
unconcernedly  as  she  had  left  it. 

Hanky  for  a  time  continued  to  foam  at  the  mouth 
and  roar  out,  "Tear  him  to  pieces!  burn  him  alive!" 
but  when  he  saw  that  there  was  no  further  hope  of 
getting  the  people  to  obey  him,  he  collapsed  on  to  a 
seat  in  the  pulpit,  mopped  his  bald  head,  and  consoled 
himself  with  a  great  pinch  of  powder  which  corre- 
sponds very  closely  to  our  own  snufif. 

George  led  my  father  out  by  the  side  door  at  the 
north  end  of  the  western  aisle;  the  people  eyed  him 
intently,  but  made  way  for  him  without  demonstra- 
tion. One  voice  alone  was  heard  to  cry  out,  "Yes,  he 
is  the  Sunchild !"  My  father  glanced  at  the  speaker, 
and  saw  that  he  was  the  interpreter  who  had  taught 
him  the  Erewhonian  language  when  he  was  in  prison. 

George,  seeing  a  special  constable  close  by,  told  him 
to  bid  his  brothers  release  the  vergers,  and  let  them 
arrest  the  interpreter — this  the  vergers,  foiled  as  they 


Prof.  Hanky's  Sermon  189 

had  been  in  the  matter  of  my  father's  arrest,  were 
very  glad  to  do.  So  the  poor  interpreter,  to  his 
dismay,  was  lodged  at  once  in  one  of  the  Bank 
prison-cells,  where  he  could  do  no  further  harm. 


CHAPTER    XVII 

GEORGE    TAKES    HIS    FATHER    TO    PRISON,    AND    THERE 
OBTAINS   SOME   USEFUL   INFORMATION 

By  this  time  George  had  gotten  my  father  into  the 
open  square,  where  he  was  surprised  to  find  that  a 
large  bonfire  had  been  made  and  Hghted.  There  had 
been  nothing  of  the  kind  an  hour  before ;  the  wood, 
therefore,  must  have  been  piled  and  lighted  while 
people  had  been  in  church.  He  had  no  time  at  the 
moment  to  enquire  why  this  had  been  done,  but  later 
on  he  discovered  that  on  the  Sunday  morning  the 
Manager  of  the  new  temple  had  obtained  leave  from 
the  Mayor  to  have  the  wood  piled  in  the  square,  repre- 
senting that  this  was  Professor  Hanky's  contribution 
to  the  festivities  of  the  day.  There  had,  it  seemed, 
been  no  intention  of  lighting  it  until  nightfall ;  but  it 
had  accidently  caught  fire  through  the  carelessness  of 
a  workman,  much  about  the  time  when  Hanky  began 
to  preach.  No  one  for  a  moment  believed  that  there 
had  been  any  sinister  intention,  or  that  Professor 
Hanky  when  he  urged  the  crowd  to  burn  my  father 
alive,  even  knew  that  there  was  a  pile  of  wood  in  the 
square  at  all — much  less  that  it  had  been  lighted — ■ 
for  he  could  hardly  have  supposed  that  the  wood  had 
been  got  together  so  soon.  Nevertheless  both  George 
and  my  father,  when  they  knew  all  that  had  passed, 
congratulated  themselves  on  the  fact  that  my  father 

190 


In  Prison  191 

had  not  fallen  into  the  hands  of  the  vergers,  who 
would  probably  have  tried  to  utilise  the  accidental 
fire,  though  in  no  case  is  it  likely  they  would  have 
succeeded. 

As  soon  as  they  were  inside  the  gaol,  the  old  Master 
recognised  my  father.  "Bless  my  heart — what?  You 
here,  again,  Mr.  Higgs?  Why,  I  thought  you  were  in 
the  palace  of  the  sun  your  father." 

"I  wish  I  was,"  answered  my  father,  shaking  hands 
with  him,  but  he  could  say  no  more. 

"You  are  as  safe  here  as  if  you  were,"  said  George 
laughing,  "and  safer."  Then  turning  to  his  grand- 
father, he  said,  "You  have  the  record  of  Mr.  Higgs's 
marks  and  measurements?  I  know  you  have:  take 
him  to  his  old  cell;  it  is  the  best  in  the  prison;  and 
then  please  bring  me  the  record." 

The  old  man  took  George  and  my  father  to  the  cell 
which  he  had  occupied  twenty  years  earlier — but  I 
cannot  stay  to  describe  his  feelings  on  finding  himself 
again  within  it.  The  moment  his  grandfather's  back 
was  turned,  George  said  to  my  father,  "And  now 
shake  hands  also  with  your  son." 

As  he  sj)oke  he  took  my  father's  hand  and  pressed 
it  warmly  between  both  his  own. 

"Then  you  know  you  are  my  son,"  said  my  father 
as  steadily  as  the  strong  emotion  that  mastered  him 
would  permit. 

"Certainly." 

"But  you  did  not  know  this  when  I  was  walking 
with  you  on  Friday?" 

"Of  course  not.  I  thought  you  were  Professor 
Panky;  if  I  had  not  taken  you  for  one  of  the  two 
I)ersons  named  in  your  permit,  I  should  have  f|ues- 


192  Erewhon  Revisited 

tioned  you  closely,  and  probably  ended  by  throwing 
you  into  the  Blue  Pool."   He  shuddered  as  he  said  this. 

"But  you  knew  who  I  was  when  you  called  me 
Panky  in  the  temple?" 

"Quite  so.  My  mother  told  me  everything  on  Fri- 
day evening." 

"And  that  is  why  you  tried  to  find  me  at  Fair- 
mead?" 

"Yes,  but  where  in  the  world  were  you?" 

"I  was  inside  the  Musical  Bank  of  the  town,  resting 
and  reading." 

George  laughed,  and  said,  "On  purpose  to  hide?" 

"Oh  no;  pure  chance.  But  on  Friday  evening? 
How  could  your  mother  have  found  out  by  that  time 
that  I  was  in  Erewhon?  Am  I  on  my  head  or  my 
heels?" 

"On  your  heels,  my  father,  which  shall  take  you 
back  to  your  own  country  as  soon  as  we  can  get  you 
out  of  this." 

"What  have  I  done  to  deserve  so  much  good-will? 
I  have  done  you  nothing  but  harm."  Again  he  was 
quite  overcome. 

George  patted  him  gently  on  the  hand,  and  said, 
"You  made  a  bet  and  you  won  it.  During  the  very 
short  time  that  we  can  be  together,  you  shall  be  paid 
in  full,  and  may  heaven  protect  us  both." 

As  soon  as  my  father  could  speak  he  said,  "But 
how  did  your  mother  find  out  that  I  was  in  Ere- 
whon ?" 

"Hanky  and  Panky  were  dining  with  her,  and  they 
told  her  some  things  that  she  thought  strange.  She 
cross-questioned  them,  put  two  and  two  together, 
learned  that  you  had  got  their  permit  out  of  them,  saw 


In  Prison  193 

that  you  intended  to  return  on  Friday,  and  concluded 
that  you  would  be  sleeping  in  Sunch'ston.  She  sent 
for  me,  told  me  all,  bade  me  scour  Sunch'ston  to  find 
you,  intending-  that  you  should  be  at  once  escorted 
safely  over  the  preserves  by  me.  I  found  your  inn, 
but  you  had  given  us  the  slip.  I  tried  first  Fairmead 
and  then  Clearwater,  but  did  not  find  you  till  this 
morning.  For  reasons  too  long  to  repeat,  my  mother 
warned  Hanky  and  Panky  that  you  would  be  in  the 
temple;  whereon  Hanky  tried  to  get  you  into  his 
clutches.  Happily  he  failed,  but  if  I  had  known  what 
he  was  doing  I  should  have  arrested  you  before  the 
service.  I  ought  to  have  done  this,  but  I  wanted  you 
to  win  your  wager,  and  I  shall  get  you  safely  away  in 
spite  of  them.  My  mother  will  not  like  my  having  let 
you  hear  Hanky's  sermon  and  declare  yourself." 
"You  half  told  me  not  to  say  who  I  was." 
"Yes,  but  I  was  delighted  when  you  disobeyed  me." 
"I  did  it  very  badly.  I  never  rise  to  great  occa- 
sions, I  always  fall  to  them,  but  these  things  must 
come  as  they  come." 

"You  did  it  as  well  as  it  could  be  done,  and  good 
will  come  of  it." 

"And  now,"  he  continued,  "describe  exactly  all  that 
passed  Ix^tween  you  and  the  Professors.  On  which 
side  of  Panky  did  Hanky  sit,  and  did  they  sit  north 
and  south  or  east  and  west?  How  did  you  get — oh 
yes,  T  know  that — you  told  them  it  would  l>e  of  no 
further  use  to  them.     Tell  mc  all  else  you  can." 

My  father  said  that  ihc  Professors  were  sitting 
pretty  well  east  and  west,  so  that  Hanky,  who  was  on 
the  east  side,  nearest  the  mountains,  had  Panky,  who 
was  on  the  Sunch'ston  side,  on  his  right  hand.   George 


194  Erewhon  Revisited 

made  a  note  of  this.  M)^  father  then  told  what  the 
reader  ah-eady  knows,  but  when  he  came  to  the  meas- 
urement of  the  boots,  George  said,  "Take  your  boots 
ofif,"  and  began  taking  off  his  own.  "Foot  for  foot," 
he  said,  "we  are  not  father  and  son,  but  brothers. 
Yours  will  fit  me;  they  are  less  worn  than  mine,  but 
I  daresay  you  will  not  mind  that." 

On  this  George  c.v  abitndanti  cauteld  knocked  a  nail 
out  of  the  right  boot  that  he  had  been  wearing  and 
changed  boots  with  my  father;  but  he  thought  it  more 
plausible  not  to  knock  out  exactly  the  same  nail  that 
was  missing  on  my  father's  boot.  When  the  change 
was  made,  each  found — or  said  he  found — the  other's 
boots  quite  comfortable. 

My  father  all  the  time  felt  as  though  he  were  a 
basket  given  to  a  dog.  The  dog  had  got  him,  was 
proud  of  him,  and  no  one  must  try  to  take  him  away. 
The  promptitude  with  which  George  took  to  him,  the 
obvious  pleasure  he  had  in  "running"  him,  his  quick 
judgment,  verging  as  it  should  towards  rashness,  his 
confidence  that  my  father  trusted  him  without  reserve, 
the  conviction  of  perfect  openness  that  was  conveyed 
by  the  way  in  which  his  eyes  never  budged  from  my 
father's  when  he  spoke  to  him,  his  genial,  kindly, 
manner,  perfect  physical  health,  and  the  air  he  had  of 
being  on  the  best  possible  terms  with  himself  and 
every  one  else — the  combination  of  all  this  so  over- 
mastered my  poor  father  (who  indeed  had  been  suffi- 
ciently mastered  before  he  had  been  five  minutes  in 
George's  company)  that  he  resigned  himself  as  grate- 
fully to  being  a  basket,  as  George  had  cheerfully 
undertaken  the  task  of  carrying  him. 

In  passing  I  may  say  that  George  could  never  get 


In  Prison  195 

his  own  boots  back  again,  though  he  tried  more  than 
once  to  do  so.  My  father  ahvays  made  some  excuse. 
They  were  the  only  memento  of  George  that  he 
brought  home  with  him :  I  wonder  that  he  did  not  ask 
for  a  lock  of  his  hair,  but  he  did  not.  He  had  the 
boots  put  against  a  wall  in  his  bedroom,  where  he 
could  see  them  from  his  bed,  and  during  his  illness, 
while  consciousness  yet  remained  with  him,  I  saw  his 
eyes  continually  turn  towards  them.  George,  in  fact, 
dominated  him  as  long  as  anything  in  this  world  could 
do  so.  Nor  do  I  wonder;  on  the  contrary,  I  love  his 
memory  the  better ;  for  I  too,  as  will  appear  later,  have 
seen  George,  and  whatever  little  jealousy  I  may  have 
felt,  vanished  on  my  finding  him  almost  instanta- 
neously gain  the  same  ascendancy  over  me  his  brother, 
that  he  had  gained  over  his  and  my  father.  But  of 
this  no  more  at  present.  Let  me  return  to  the  gaol  in 
Sunch'ston. 

"Tell  me  more,"  said  George,  "about  the  Profes- 
sors." 

My  father  told  him  about  the  nuggets,  the  sale  of 
his  kit,  the  receipt  he  had  given  for  the  money,  and 
how  he  had  got  tlie  nuggets  back  from  a  tree,  the 
position  of  which  he  described. 

"I  know  the  tree ;  have  you  got  the  nuggets  here  ?" 

"Here  they  are,  with  the  receipt,  and  the  pocket 
handkerchief  marked  with  Hanky's  name.  The  pocket 
handkerchief  was  found  wrapped  round  some  dried 
leaves  that  we  call  tea,  but  I  have  not  got  these  with 
me."  As  he  spoke  he  gave  everything  to  George,  who 
showed  the  utmost  delight  in  getting  possession  of 
them. 


196  Erewhon  Revisited 

"I  suppose  the  blanket  and  the  rest  of  the  kit  are 
still  in  the  tree?" 

"Unless  Hanky  and  Panky  have  got  them  away,  or 
some  one  has  found  them." 

"This  is  not  likely.  I  will  now  go  to  my  office,  but 
I  will  come  back  very  shortly.  My  grandfather  shall 
bring  you  something  to  eat  at  once.  I  will  tell  him  to 
send  enough  for  two" — which  he  accordingly  did. 

On  reaching  the  office,  he  told  his  next  brother 
(whom  he  had  made  an  under- ranger)  to  go  to  the 
tree  he  described,  and  bring  back  the  bundle  he  should 
find  concealed  therein.  "You  can  go  there  and  back," 
he  said,  "in  an  hour  and  a  half,  and  I  shall  want  the 
bundle  by  that  time." 

The  brother,  whose  name  I  never  rightly  caught, 
set  out  at  once.  As  soon  as  he  was  gone,  George  took 
from  a  drawer  the  feathers  and  bones  of  quails,  that 
he  had  shown  my  father  on  the  morning  when  he  met 
him.  He  divided  them  in  half,  and  made  them  into 
two  bundles,  one  of  which  he  docketed,  "Bones  of 
quails  eaten,  XIX.  xii.  29,  by  Professor  Hanky,  P.O. 
W.W.,  &c."  And  he  labelled  Panky's  quail  bones  in 
like  fashion. 

Having  done  this  he  returned  to  the  gaol,  but  on  his 
way  he  looked  in  at  the  Mayor's,  and  left  a  note  say- 
ing that  he  should  be  at  the  gaol,  where  any  message 
would  reach  him,  but  that  he  did  not  wish  to  meet 
Professors  Hanky  and  Panky  for  another  couple  of 
hours.  It  was  now  about  half -past  twelve,  and  he 
caught  sight  of  a  crowd  coming  quietly  out  of  the 
temple,  whereby  he  knew  that  Hanky  would  soon  be 
at  the  Mayor's  house. 

Dinner  was  brought  in  almost  at  the  moment  when 


In  Prison  197 

George  returned  to  the  gaol.  As  soon  as  it  was  over 
George  said  : — 

"Are  you  quite  sure  you  have  made  no  mistake 
about  the  way  in  which  you  got  the  permit  out  of  the 
Professors?" 

"Quite  sure.  I  told  them  they  would  not  want  it, 
and  said  I  could  save  them  trouble  if  they  gave  it  me. 
They  never  suspected  why  I  wanted  it.  Where  do  you 
think  I  may  be  mistaken  ?" 

"You  sold  your  nuggets  for  rather  less  than  a 
twentieth  part  of  their  value,  and  you  threw  in  some 
curiosities,  that  would  have  fetched  about  half  as 
much  as  you  got  for  the  nuggets.  You  say  you  did 
this  because  you  wanted  money  to  keep  you  going  till 
you  could  sell  some  of  your  nuggets.  This  sounds 
well  at  first,  but  the  sacrifice  is  too  great  to  be  plausible 
when  considered.  It  looks  more  like  a  case  of  good 
honest  manly  straightforward  corruption." 

"Rut  surely  you  l^elieve  me?" 

"Of  course  I  do.  I  believe  every  syllable  that  comes 
from  your  mouth,  but  I  shall  not  be  able  to  make  out 
that  the  story  was  as  it  was  not,  unless  I  am  quite 
certain  what  it  really  was." 

"It  was  exactly  as  T  have  told  you." 

"That  is  enough.  And  now,  may  I  tell  my  mother 
that  you  will  put  voursclf  in  her,  and  the  Mayor's,  and 
my,  hands,  and  will  do  whatever  we  tell  you?" 

"I  will  be  obedience  itself — but  you  will  not  ask  me 
to  do  anything  that  will  make  your  mother  or  you 
think  less  well  of  me?" 

"If  we  tell  you  what  you  are  to  do,  we  shall  not 
think  any  the  worse  of  3'ou  for  doing  it.  1"hcn  T  may 
say  to  my  mother  that  yoti  will  be  good  and  give  no 


198  Erewhon  Revisited 

trouble — not  even  though  we  bid  you  shake  hands 
with  Hanky  and  Panky?" 

"I  will  embrace  them  and  kiss  them  on  both  cheeks, 
if  you  and  she  tell  me  to  do  so.  But  what  about  the 
Mayor?" 

"He  has  known  everything,  and  condoned  .^ipvery- 
thing,  these  last  twenty  years.  He  will  leave  every- 
thing to  my  mother  and  me." 

"Shall  I  have  to  see  him?" 

"Certainly.  You  must  be  brought  up  before  him 
to-morrow  morning." 

"How  can  I  look  him  in  the  face?" 

"As  you  would  me,  or  any  one  else.  It  is  under- 
stood among  us  that  nothing  happened.  Things  may 
have  looked  as  though  they  had  happened,  but  they 
did  not  happen." 

"And  you  are  not  yet  quite  twenty?" 

"No,  but  I  am  son  to  my  mother — and,"  he  added, 
"to  one  who  can  stretch  a  point  or  two  in  the  way  of 
honesty  as  well  as  other  people." 

Having  said  this  with  a  laugh,  he  again  took  my 
father's  hand  between  both  his,  and  went  back  to  his 
office — where  he  set  himself  to  think  out  the  course  he 
intended  to  take  when  dealing  with  the  Professors. 


CHAPTER   XVIII 

VRAM    INVITES    DR.    DOWNIE    AND    MRS.    HUMDRUM    TO 

LUNCHEON A   PASSAGE  AT   ARMS   BETWEEN    HER 

AND    HANKY   IS   AMICABLY   ARRANGED 

The  disturbance  caused  by  my  father's  outbreak 
was  quickly  suppressed,  for  George  got  him  out  of 
the  temple  almost  immediately;  it  was  bruited  about, 
however,  that  the  Sunchild  had  come  down  from  the 
palace  of  the  sun,  but  had  disappeared  as  soon  as  any 
one  had  tried  to  touch  him.  In  vain  did  Hanky  try 
to  put  fresh  life  into  his  sermon;  its  back  had  been 
broken,  and  large  numbers  left  the  church  to  see  what 
they  could  hear  outside,  or  failing  information,  to  dis- 
course more  freely  with  one  another. 

Hanky  did  his  best  to  quiet  his  hearers  when  he 
found  that  he  could  not  infuriate  them, — 

"This  poor  man,"  he  said,  "is  already  known  to  me, 
as  one  of  those  who  have  deluded  themselves  into  be- 
lieving that  they  are  the  Sunchild.  I  have  known  of 
his  so  declaring  himself,  more  than  once,  in  the  neigh- 
bourhood of  Bridgeford,  and  others  have  not  infre- 
quently done  the  same;  I  did  not  at  first  recognize 
him,  and  regret  that  the  shock  of  horror  his  words 
occasioned  me  should  have  prompted  me  to  suggest 
violence  against  him.  Let  this  unfortunate  affair  pass 
from  your  minds,  and  let  me  again  urge  upon  you  the 
claims  of  the  Sunchild  Evidence  Society." 

199 


200  Erewhon  Revisited 

The  audience  on  hearing  that  they  were  to  be  told 
more  about  the  Sunchild  Evidence  Society  melted 
away  even  more  rapidly  than  before,  and  the  sermon 
fizzled  out  to  an  ignominious  end  quite  unworthy  of 
its  occasion. 

About  half-past  twelve,  the  service  ended,  and 
Hanky  went  to  the  robing-room  to  take  off  his  vest- 
ments. Yram,  the  Mayor,  and  Panky,  waited  for  him 
at  the  door  opposite  to  that  through  which  my  father 
had  been  taken ;  while  waiting,  Yram  scribbled  off 
two  notes  in  pencil,  one  to  Dr.  Downie,  and  another  to 
Mrs.  Humdrum,  begging  them  to  come  to  lunch  at 
once — for  it  would  be  one  o'clock  before  they  could 
reach  the  Mayor's.  She  gave  these  notes  to  the  Mayor, 
and  bade  him  bring  both  the  invited  guests  along  with 
him. 

The  Mayor  left  just  as  Hanky  was  coming  towards 
her.  "This,  Mayoress,"  he  said  with  some  asperity, 
"is  a  very  serious  business.  It  has  ruined  my  collec- 
tion. Half  the  people  left  the  temple  without  giving 
anything  at  all.  You  seem,"  he  added  in  a  tone  the 
significance  of  which  could  not  be  mistaken,  "to  be 
very  fond,  Mayoress,  of  this  Mr.  Higgs." 

"Yes,"  said  Yram,  *T  am :  I  always  liked  him,  and 
I  am  sorry  for  him ;  but  he  is  not  the  person  I  am  most 
sorry  for  at  this  moment — he,  poor  man,  is  not  going 
to  be  horsewhipped  within  the  next  twenty  minutes." 
And  she  spoke  the  "he"  in  italics. 

"I  do  not  understand  you.  Mayoress." 

"My  husband  will  explain,  as  soon  as  I  have  seen 
him." 

"Hanky,"  said  Panky,  "you  must  withdraw,  and 
apologise  at  once." 


After  Service  201 

Hanky  was  not  slow  to  do  this,  and  when  he  had 
disavowed  everything,  withdrawn  everything,  apolo- 
gised for  everything,  and  eaten  humble  pie  to  Yram's 
satisfaction,  she  smiled  graciously,  and  held  out  her 
hand,  which  Hanky  was  obliged  to  take. 

"And  now.  Professor,"  she  said,  "let  me  return  to 
your  remark  that  this  is  a  verj'  serious  business,  and 
let  me  also  claim  a  woman's  privilege  of  being  listened 
to  whenever  she  chooses  to  speak,  I  propose,  then, 
that  we  say  nothing  further  about  this  matter  till  after 
luncheon.  I  have  asked  Dr.  Downie  and  Mrs.  Hum- 
drum to  join  us " 

"Why  Airs.  Humdrum?"  interrupted  Hanky  none 
too  pleasantly,  for  he  was  still  furious  about  the  duel 
that  had  just  taken  place  between  himself  and  his 
hostess. 

"My  dear  Professor,"  said  Yram  good-humouredly, 
"pray  say  all  you  have  to  say  and  I  will  continue." 

Hanky  was  silent. 

"I  have  askd,"  resumed  Yram,  "Dr.  Downie  and 
Mrs.  Humdrum  to  join  us,  and  after  luncheon  we  can 
discuss  the  situation  or  no  as  you  may  think  proper. 
Till  then  let  us  say  no  more.  Luncheon  will  be  over 
by  two  o'clock  or  soon  after,  and  the  banquet  will  not 
begin  till  seven,  so  we  shall  have  plenty  of  time." 

Hanky  looked  black  and  said  nothing.  As  for 
Panky  he  was  morally  in  a  state  of  collapse,  and  did 
not  count. 

Hardly  had  they  reached  the  Mayor's  house  when 
the  Mayor  also  arrived  with  Dr.  Downie  and  Mrs. 
Humdrum,  both  of  whom  had  seen  and  recognised 
my  father  in  spite  of  his  having  dyed  his  hair.  Dr. 
Downie  had  met  him  at  supper  at  Mr.  Thims's  rooms 


202  Erewhon  Revisited 

when  he  had  visited  Bridge  ford,  and  naturally  enough 
had  observed  him  closely.  Mrs.  Humdrum,  as  I  have 
already  said,  had  seen  him  more  than  once  when  he 
was  in  prison.  She  and  Dr.  Downie  were  talking 
earnestly  over  the  strange  reappearance  of  one  whom 
they  had  believed  long  since  dead,  but  Yram  imposed 
on  them  the  same  silence  that  she  had  already  imposed 
on  the  Professors. 

"Professor  Hanky,"  said  she  to  Mrs.  Humdrum,  in 
Hanky's  hearing,  "is  a  little  alarmed  at  my  having 
asked  you  to  join  our  secret  conclave.  He  is  not  mar- 
ried, and  does  not  know  how  well  a  woman  can  hold 
her  tongue  when  she  chooses.  I  should  have  told  you 
all  that  passed,  for  I  mean  to  follow  your  advice,  so 
I  thought  you  had  better  hear  everything  yourself." 

Hanky  still  looked  black,  but  he  said  nothing. 
Luncheon  was  promptly  served,  and  done  justice  to  in 
spite  of  much  preoccupation ;  for  if  there  is  one  thing 
that  gives  a  better  appetite  than  another,  it  is  a  Sun- 
day morning's  service  with  a  charity  sermon  to  follow. 
As  the  guests  might  not  talk  on  the  subject  they 
wanted  to  talk  about,  and  were  in  no  humour  to  speak 
of  anything  else,  they  gave  their  whole  attention  to  the 
good  things  that  were  before  them,  without  so  much 
as  a  thought  about  reserving  themselves  for  the  eve- 
ning's banquet.  Nevertheless,  when  luncheon  was 
over,  the  Professors  were  in  no  more  genial,  manage- 
able, state  of  mind  than  they  had  been  when  it  began. 

When  the  servants  had  left  the  room,  Yram  said  to 
Hanky,  "You  saw  the  prisoner,  and  he  was  the  man 
you  met  on  Thursday  night  ?" 

"Certainly,  he  was  wearing  the  forbidden  dress  and 


After  Service  203 

he  had  many  quails  in  his  possession.     There  is  no 
doubt  also  that  he  was  a  foreign  devil." 

At  this  point,  it  being  now  nearly  half-past  two, 
George  came  in,  and  took  a  seat  next  to  Mrs.  Hum- 
drum— between  her  and  his  mother — who  of  course 
sat  at  the  head  of  the  table  with  the  Mayor  opposite  to 
her.  On  one  side  of  the  table  sat  the  Professors,  and 
on  the  other  Dr.  Downie,  ]\Irs.  Humdrum,  and 
George,  who  had  heard  the  last  few  words  that  Hanky 
had  spoken. 


CHAPTER  XIX 

A  COUNCIL  IS  HELD  AT  THE  MAYOR's,  IN  THE  COURSE 
OF  WHICH  GEORGE  TURNS  THE  TABLES  ON  THE 
PROFESSORS 

"Now  who,"  said  Yram,  "is  this  unfortunate  crea- 
ture to  be,  when  he  is  brought  up  to-morrow  morning, 
on  the  charge  of  poaching?" 

"It  is  not  necessary,"  said  Hanky  severely,  "that  he 
should  be  brought  up  for  poaching.  He  is  a  foreign 
devil,  and  as  such  your  son  is  bound  to  fling  him  with- 
out trial  into  the  Blue  Pool.  Why  bring  a  smaller 
charge  when  you  must  inflict  the  death  penalty  on  a 
more  serious  one  ?  I  have  already  told  you  that  I  shall 
feel  it  my  duty  to  report  the  matter  at  headquarters, 
unless  I  am  satisfied  that  the  death  penalty  has  been 
inflicted." 

"Of  course,"  said  George,  "we  must  all  of  us  do  our 
duty,  and  I  shall  not  shrink  from  mine — but  I  have 
arrested  this  man  on  a  charge  of  poaching,  and  must 
give  my  reasons;  the  case  cannot  be  dropped,  and  it 
must  be  heard  in  public.  Am  I,  or  am  I  not,  to  have 
the  sworn  depositions  of  both  you  gentlemen  to  the 
fact  that  the  prisoner  is  the  man  you  saw  with  quails 
in  his  possession?  If  you  can  depose  to  this  he  will 
be  convicted,  for  there  can  be  no  doubt  he  killed  the 
birds  himself.  The  least  penalty  my  father  can  inflict 
is  twelve  months'  imprisonment  with  hard  labour;  and 

204 


A  Council  205 

he  must  undergo  this  sentence  before  I  can  Blue-Pool 
him. 

"Then  comes  the  question  whether  or  no  he  is  a 
foreign  devil.  I  may  decide  this  in  private,  but  I  must 
have  depositions  on  oath  before  I  do  so,  and  at  present 
I  have  nothing  but  hearsay.  Perhaps  you  gentlemen 
can  give  mc  the  evidence  I  shall  require,  but  the  case 
is  one  of  such  importance  that  were  the  prisoner 
proved  never  so  clearly  to  be  a  foreign  devil,  I  should 
not  Blue-Pool  him  till  I  had  taken  the  King's  pleasure 
concerning  him.  I  shall  rejoice,  therefore,  if  you  gen- 
tlemen can  help  me  to  sustain  the  charge  of  poaching, 
and  thus  give  me  legal  standing-ground  for  deferring 
action  which  the  King  might  regret,  and  which  once 
taken  cannot  be  recalled." 

Here  Yram  interposed.  "These  points,"  she  said, 
"are  details.  Should  we  not  first  settle,  not  what,  but 
who,  we  shall  allow  the  prisoner  to  be,  when  he  is 
brought  up  to-morrow  morning?  Settle  this,  and  the 
rest  will  settle  itself.  He  has  declared  himself  to  be 
the  Sunchild,  and  will  probably  do  so  again.  I  am 
prepared  to  identify  him,  so  is  Dr.  Downie,  so  is  Mrs. 
Humdrum,  the  interpreter,  and  doubtless  my  father. 
Others  of  known  respectability  will  also  do  so,  and  his 
marks  and  measurements  are  sure  to  correspond  quite 
sufficiently.  The  question  is,  whether  all  this  is  to  be 
allowed  to  appear  on  evidence,  or  whether  it  is  to  be 
established,  as  it  easily  may,  if  we  give  our  minds  to 
it,  that  he  is  not  the  Sunchild." 

"Whatever  else  he  is,"  said  Hanky,  "he  must  not 
be  the  Sunchild.  He  must,  if  the  charge  of  poaching 
cannot  be  dropped,  be  a  poacher  and  a  foreign  devil.  I 
was  doubtless  too  hasty  when  I  said  that  I  believed  I 


2o6  Erewhon  Revisited 

recognised  the  man  as  one  who  had  more  than  once 
declared  himself  to  be  the  Sunchild " 

"But,  Hanky,"  interrupted  Panky,  "are  you  sure 
that  you  can  swear  to  this  man's  being  the  man  we  met 
on  Thursday  night?  We  only  saw  him  by  firelight, 
and  I  doubt  whether  I  should  feel  justified  in  swear- 
ing to  him." 

"Well,  well :  on  second  thoughts  I  am  not  sure, 
Panky,  but  what  you  may  be  right  after  all ;  it  is  pos- 
sible that  he  may  be  what  I  said  he  was  in  my  ser- 
mon." 

"I  rejoice  to  hear  you  say  so,"  said  George,  "for  in 
this  case  the  charge  of  poaching  will  fall  through. 
There  will  be  no  evidence  against  the  prisoner.  And 
I  rejoice  also  to  think  that  I  shall  have  nothing  to  war- 
rant me  in  believing  him  to  be  a  foreign  devil.  For  if 
he  is  not  to  be  the  Sunchild,  and  not  to  be  your 
poacher,  he  becomes  a  mere  monomaniac.  If  he  apolo- 
gises for  having  made  a  disturbance  in  the  temple, 
and  promises  not  to  offend  again,  a  fine,  and  a  few 
days'  imprisonment,  wall  meet  the  case,  and  he  may  be 
discharged." 

"I  see,  I  see,"  said  Hanky  very  angrily.  "You  are 
determined  to  get  this  man  off  if  you  can." 

"I  shall  act,"  said  George,  "in  accordance  with 
sworn  evidence,  and  not  otherwise.  Choose  whether 
you  will  have  the  prisoner  to  be  your  poacher  or  no : 
give  me  your  sworn  depositions  one  way  or  the  other, 
and  I  shall  know  how  to  act.  If  you  depose  on  oath 
to  the  identity  of  the  prisoner  and  your  poacher,  he 
will  be  convicted  and  imprisoned.  As  to  his  being  a 
foreign  devil,  if  he  is  the  Sunchild,  of  course  he  is  one; 
but  otherwise  I  cannot  Blue-Pool  him  even  when  his 


A  Council  207 

sentence  is  expired,  without  testimony  deposed  to  me 
on  oath  in  private,  though  no  open  trial  is  required.  A 
case  for  suspicion  was  made  out  in  my  hearing  last 
night,  but  I  must  have  depositions  on  oath  to  all  the 
leading  facts  before  I  can  decide  what  my  duty  is. 
What  will  you  swear  to  ?" 

"All  this,"  said  Hanky,  in  a  voice  husky  with  pas- 
sion, "shall  be  reported  to  the  King." 

"I  intend  to  report  every  word  of  it ;  but  that  is  not 
the  point:  the  question  is  what  you  gentlemen  will 
swear  to?" 

"Very  well.  I  will  settle  it  thus.  We  will  swear 
that  the  prisoner  is  the  poacher  we  met  on  Thursday 
night,  and  that  he  is  also  a  foreign  devil :  his  wearing 
the  forbidden  dress;  his  foreign  accent;  the  foot- 
tracks  we  found  in  the  snow,  as  of  one  coming  over 
from  the  other  side;  his  obvious  ignorance  of  the 
Afforesting  Act,  as  shown  by  his  having  lit  a  fire  and 
making  no  effort  to  conceal  his  quails  till  our  permit 
shewed  him  his  blunder;  the  cock-and-bull  story  he 
told  us  about  your  orders,  and  that  other  story  about 
his  having  killed  a  foreign  devil — if  these  facts  do  not 
satisfy  you,  they  will  satisfy  the  King  that  the  pris- 
oner is  a  foreign  devil  as  well  as  a  poacher." 

"Some  of  these  facts,"  answered  George,  "arc  new 
to  me.  IIow  do  you  know  that  the  foot-tracks  were 
made  by  the  prisoner?" 

Panky  brought  out  his  note-book  and  read  the  de- 
tails he  had  noted. 

"Did  you  examine  the  man's  boots?" 

"One  of  them,  the  right  foot;  this,  with  the  measur- 
ments,  was  (luite  enough." 

"Hardly.     Please  to  look  at  both  soles  of  my  own 


2o8  Erewhon  Revisited 

boots;  you  will  find  that  those  tracks  were  mine.  I 
will  have  the  prisoner's  boots  examined ;  in  the  mean- 
time let  me  tell  you  tliat  I  was  up  at  the  statues  on 
Thursday  morning,  walked  three  or  four  hundred 
yards  beyond  them,  over  ground  where  there  was  less 
snow,  returned  over  the  snow,  and  went  two  or  three 
times  round  them,  as  it  is  the  Ranger's  duty  to  do  once 
a  year  in  order  to  see  that  none  of  them  are  beginning 
to  lean." 

He  showed  the  soles  of  his  boots,  and  the  Professors 
were  obliged  to  admit  that  the  tracks  were  his.  He 
cautioned  them  as  to  the  rest  of  the  points  on  which 
they  relied.  Might  they  not  be  as  mistaken,  as  they 
had  just  proved  to  be  about  the  tracks?  He  could  not, 
however,  stir  them  from  sticking  to  it  that  there  was 
enough  evidence  to  prove  my  father  to  be  a  foreign 
devil,  and  declaring  their  readiness  to  depose  to  the 
facts  on  oath.  In  the  end  Hanky  again  fiercely  ac- 
cused him  of  trying  to  shield  the  prisoner. 

"You  are  quite  right,"  said  George,  "and  you  will 
see  my  reasons  shortly." 

"I  have  no  doubt,"  said  Hanky  significantly,  "that 
they  are  such  as  would  weigh  with  any  man  of  ordi- 
nary feeling." 

"I  understand,  then,"  said  George,  appearing  to  take 
no  notice  of  Hanky's  innuendo,  "that  you  will  swear 
to  the  facts  as  you  have  above  stated  them?" 

"Certainly." 

"Then  kindly  wait  while  I  write  them  on  the  form 
that  I  have  brought  with  me ;  the  Mayor  can  adminis- 
ter the  oath  and  sign  your  depositions.  I  shall  then 
be  able  to  leave  you,  and  proceed  with  getting  up  the 
case  against  the  prisoner." 


A  Council  209 

So  saying,  he  went  to  a  writing-table  in  another  part 
of  the  room,  and  made  out  the  depositions. 

Meanwhile  the  Mayor,  Mrs.  Humdrum,  and  Dr. 
Downie  (who  had  each  of  them  more  than  once  vainly 
tried  to  take  part  in  the  above  discussion)  conversed 
eagerly  in  an  undertone  among  themselves.  Hanky 
was  blind  with  rage,  for  he  had  a  sense  that  he  was 
going  to  be  outwitted;  the  Mayor,  Yram  and  Mrs. 
Humdrum  had  already  seen  that  George  thought  he 
had  all  the  trumps  in  his  own  hand  but  they  did  not 
know  more.  Dr.  Downie  was  frightened,  and  Panky 
so  muddled  as  to  be  hors  dc  combat. 

George  now  rejoined  the  Professors,  and  read  the 
depositions:  the  Mayor  administered  the  oath  accord- 
ing to  Erewhonian  custom;  the  Professors  signed 
without  a  word,  and  George  then  handed  the  docu- 
ment to  his  father  to  countersign. 

The  Mayor  examined  it,  and  almost  immediately 
said,  "My  dear  George,  you  have  made  a  mistake; 
.these  depositions  are  on  a  form  reserved  for  deponents 
who  are  on  the  point  of  death." 

"Alas!"  answered  George,  "there  is  no  help  for  it.  I 
did  my  utmost  to  prevent  their  signing.  I  know  that 
those  depositions  were  their  own  death  warrant,  and 
that  is  why,  though  I  was  satisfied  that  the  prisoner  is 
a  foreign  devil,  I  had  hoped  to  l^e  able  to  shut  my  eyes. 
I  can  now  no  longer  do  so,  and  as  the  inevitable  con- 
sequence, I  must  Blue-Pool  both  the  IVofcssors  be- 
fore midnight.  What  man  of  ordinary  feeling  would 
not  under  these  circumstances  have  tried  to  dissuade 
them  from  deposing  as  they  have  done?" 

By  this  time  the  Professors  had  started  to  their  feet, 
and  there  was  a  look  of  horrified  astonishment  on  the 


210  Erewhon  Revisited 

faces  of  all  present,  save  that  of  George,  who  seemed 
quite  happy. 

"What  monstrous  absurdity  is  this?"  shouted 
Hanky;  "do  you  mean  to  murder  us?" 

"Certainly  not.  But  you  have  insisted  that  I  should 
do  my  duty,  and  I  mean  to  do  it.  You  gentlemen  have 
now  been  proved  to  my  satisfaction  to  have  had  traffic 
with  a  foreign  devil;  and  under  section  -^y  of  the 
Afforesting  Act,  I  must  at  once  Blue-Pool  any  such 
persons  without  public  trial." 

"Nonsense,  nonsense,  there  was  nothing  of  the  kind 
on  our  permit,  and  as  for  trafficking  with  this  foreign 
devil,  we  spoke  to  him,  but  we  neither  bought  nor  sold. 
Where  is  the  Act  ?" 

"Here.  On  your  permit  you  were  referred  to  cer- 
tain other  clauses  not  set  out  therein,  which  might  be 
seen  at  the  Mayor's  office.    Clause  37  is  as  follows : — 

"It  is  furthermore  enacted  that  should  any  of  his  Ma- 
jesty's subjects  be  found,  after  examination  by  the  Head 
Ranger,  to  have  had  traffic  of  any  kind  by  way  of  sale  or 
barter  with  any  foreign  devil,  the  said  Ranger,  on  being 
satisfied  that  such  traffic  has  taken  place,  shall  forthwith, 
with  or  without  the  assistance  of  his  under-rangers,  convey 
such  subjects  of  his  Majesty  to  the  Blue  Pool,  bind  them, 
weight  them,  and  fling  them  into  it,  without  the  formality 
of  a  trial,  and  shall  report  the  circumstances  of  the  case  to 
his  Majesty." 

"But  we  never  bought  anything  from  the  prisoner. 
What  evidence  can  you  have  of  this  but  the  word  of  a 
foreign  devil  in  such  straits  that  he  would  swear  to 
anything?" 

"The  prisoner  has  nothing  to  do  with  it.  I  am  con- 
vinced by  this  receipt  in  Professor  Panky's  handwrit- 


A  Council  211 

ing  which  states  that  he  and  you  jointly  purchased  his 
kit  from  the  prisoner,  and  also  this  bag  of  gold  nug- 
gets worth  about  £ioo  in  silver,  for  the  absurdly  small 
sum  of  £4,  I  OS.  in  silver.  I  am  further  convinced  by 
this  handkerchief  marked  with  Professor  Hanky's 
name,  in  which  was  found  a  broken  packet  of  dried 
leaves  that  are  now  at  my  office  with  the  rest  of  the 
prisoner's  kit." 

"Then  we  were  watched  and  dogged,"  said  Hanky, 
"on  Thursday  evening." 

"That,  sir,"  replied  George,  "is  my  business,  not 
yours." 

Here  Panky  laid  his  arms  on  the  table,  buried  his 
head  in  them,  and  burst  into  tears.  Every  one  seemed 
aghast,  but  the  Mayor,  Yram,  and  Mrs.  Humdrum 
saw  that  George  was  enjoying  it  all  far  too  keenly  to 
be  serious.  Dr.  Downie  was  still  frightened  (for 
George's  surface  manner  was  Rhadamanthine)  and 
did  utmost  to  console  Panky.  George  pounded  away 
ruthlessly  at  his  case. 

"I  say  nothing  about  your  having  bought  quails 
from  the  prisoner  and  eaten  them.  As  you  justly  re- 
marked just  now,  there  is  no  object  in  preferring  a 
smaller  charge  when  one  must  inflict  the  death  penalty 
on  a  more  serious  one.  Still,  Professor  Hanky,  these 
are  bones  of  the  quails  you  ate  as  you  sate  opposite  the 
prisoner  on  the  side  of  the  fire  nearest  Sunch'ston; 
these  are  Professor  Panky's  bones,  with  which  I  need 
not  disturb  him.  This  is  your  permit,  which  was 
found  upon  the  prisoner,  and  which  there  can  be  no 
doubt  you  sokl  him,  having  been  bribed  l)y  the  offer  of 
the  nuggets  for " 

"Monstrous,     monstrous!       Infamous      falsehood! 


212  Erewhon  Revisited 

Who  will  believe  such  a  childish  trumped-up  story!" 

"Who,  sir,  will  believe  anything  else?  You  will 
hardly  contend  that  you  did  not  know  the  nuggets 
were  gold,  and  no  one  will  believe  you  mean  enough  to 
have  tried  to  get  this  poor  man's  property  out  of  him 
for  a  song — you  knowing  its  value,  and  he  not  know- 
ing the  same.  No  one  will  believe  that  you  did  not 
know  the  man  to  be  a  foreign  devil,  or  that  he  could 
hoodwink  two  such  learned  Professors  so  cleverly  as 
to  get  their  permit  out  of  them.  Obviously  he  seduced 
you  into  selling  him  your  permit,  and — I  presume  be- 
cause he  wanted  a  little  of  our  money — ^he  made  you 
pay  him  for  his  kit.  I  am  satisfied  that  you  have  not 
only  had  traffic  with  a  foreign  devil,  but  traffic  of  a 
singularly  atrocious  kind,  and  this  being  so,  I  shall 
Blue-Pool  both  of  you  as  soon  as  I  can  get  you  up  to 
the  Pool  itself.  The  sooner  we  start  the  better.  I 
shall  gag  you,  and  drive  you  up  in  a  close  carriage  as 
far  as  the  road  goes ;  from  that  point  you  can  walk  up, 
or  be  dragged  up  as  you  may  prefer,  but  you  will  prob- 
ably find  walking  more  comfortable." 

"But"  said  Hanky,  "come  what  may,  I  must  be  at 
the  banquet.     I  am  set  down  to  speak." 

"The  Mayor  will  explain  that  you  have  beeg,  taken 
somewhat  suddenly  unwell." 

Here  Yram,  who  had  been  talking  quietly  with  her 
husband,  Dr.  Downie,  and  Mrs.  Humdrum,  motioned 
her  son  to  silence. 

"I  feared,"  she  said,  "that  difficulties  might  arise, 
though  I  did  not  foresee  how  seriously  they  would 
affect  my  guests.  Let  Mrs.  Humdrum  on  our  side, 
and  Dr.  Downie  on  that  of  the  Professors,  go  into  the 
next  room  and  talk  the  matter  quietly  over ;  let  us  then 


A  Council  213 

see  whether  we  cannot  agree  to  be  bound  by  their  de- 
cision. I  do  not  doubt  but  they  will  find  some  means 
of  averting  any  catastrophe  more  serious — No,  Pro- 
fessor Hanky,  the  doors  are  locked — than  a  little  per- 
jury in  which  we  shall  all  share  and  share  alike." 

"Do  what  you  like,"  said  Hanky,  looking  for  all  the 
world  like  a  rat  caught  in  a  trap.  As  he  spoke  he 
seized  a  knife  from  the  table,  whereupon  George  pulled 
a  pair  of  handcuffs  from  his  pocket  and  slipped  them 
on  to  his  wrists  before  he  well  knew  what  was  being 
done  to  him. 

"George,"  said  the  Mayor,  "this  is  going  too  far. 
Do  you  mean  to  Blue-Pool  the  Professors  or  no?" 

"Not  if  they  will  compromise.  If  they  will  be  rea- 
sonable, they  will  not  be  Blue-Pooled;  if  they  think 
they  can  have  everything  their  own  vray,  the  eels  will 
be  at  them  before  morning." 

A  voice  was  heard  from  the  head  of  Panky  which 
he  had  buried  in  his  arms  upon  the  table.  "Co — co — 
CO — CO — compromise,"  it  said ;  and  the  effect  was  so 
comic  that  every  one  except  Hanky  smiled.  Mean- 
while Yram  had  conducted  Dr.  Downie  and  Mrs. 
Humdrum  into  an  adjoining  room. 


CHAPTER  XX 

MRS.  HUMDRUM  AND  DR.  DOWNIE  PROPOSE  A  COM- 
PROMISE, WHICH,  AFTER  AN  AMENDMENT  BY 
GEORGE,    IS    CARRIED    NEM  CON. 

They  returned  in  about  ten  minutes,  and  Dr. 
Downie  asked  Mrs.  Humdrum  to  say  what  they  had 
agreed  to  recommend. 

"We  think,"  said  she  very  demurely,  "that  the  strict 
course  would  be  to  drop  the  charge  of  poaching,  and 
Blue-Pool  both  the  Professors  and  the  prisoner  with- 
out delay. 

"We  also  think  that  the  proper  thing  would  be  to 
place  on  record  that  the  prisoner  is  the  Sunchild — 
about  which  neither  Dr.  Downie  nor  I  have  a  shadow 
of  doubt. 

"These  measures  we  hold  to  be  the  only  legal  ones, 
but  at  the  same  time  we  do  not  recommend  them.  We 
think  it  would  offend  the  public  conscience  if  it  came 
to  be  known,  as  it  certainly  would,  that  the  Sunchild 
was  violently  killed,  on  the  very  day  that  had  seen  us 
dedicate  a  temple  in  his  honour,  and  perhaps  at  the 
very  hour  when  laudatory  speeches  were  being  made 
about  him  at  the  Mayor's  banquet ;  we  think  also  that 
we  should  strain  a  good  many  points  rather  than  Blue- 
Pool  the  Professors. 

"Nothing  is  perfect,  and  Truth  makes  her  mistakes 
like  other  people;  when  she  goes  wrong  and  reduces 

214 


The  Compromise  215 

herself  to  such  an  absurdity  as  she  has  here  done,  those 
who  love  her  must  save  her  from  herself,  correct  her, 
and  rehabilitate  her. 

"Our  conclusion,  therefore,  is  this: — 

"The  prisoner  must  recant  on  oath  his  statement 
that  he  is  the  Sunchild.  The  interpreter  must  be 
squared,  or  convinced  of  his  mistake.  The  jMayoress, 
Dr.  Downie,  I,  and  the  gaoler  (with  the  interpreter  if 
we  can  manage  him),  must  depose  on  oath  that  the 
prisoner  is  not  Higgs.  This  must  be  our  contribution 
to  the  rehabilitation  of  Truth. 

"The  Professors  must  contribute  as  follows :  They 
must  swear  that  the  prisoner  is  not  the  man  they  met 
with  quails  in  his  possession  on  Thursday  night.  They 
must  further  swear  that  they  have  one  or  both  of  them 
known  him,  off  and  on,  for  many  years  past,  as  a 
monomaniac  with  Sunchildism  on  the  brain  but  other- 
wise harmless.  If  they  will  do  this,  no  proceedings 
are  to  Ije  taken  against  them. 

"The  Mayor's  contribution  shall  be  to  reprimand  the 
prisoner,  and  order  him  to  repeat  his  recantation  in 
the  new  temple  before  the  Manager  and  Head  Cashier, 
and  to  confirm  his  statement  on  oath  by  kissing  the 
rcliciuary  containing  the  newly  found  relic. 

"The  Ranger  and  the  Master  of  the  Gaol  must  con- 
tribute that  the  prisoner's  measurements,  and  the 
marks  found  on  his  body,  negative  all  possibility  of 
his  identity  with  the  Sunchild,  and  that  all  the  hair  on 
the  covered  as  well  as  the  uncovered  parts  of  his  body 
was  found  to  1x}  jet  black. 

"We  advise  further  that  the  prisoner  should  have 
his  nuggets  and  his  kit  returned  to  him,  and  that  the 
receipt  given  by  the  Professors  together  with  Profes- 


2i6  Erewhon  Revisited 

sor  Hanky's  handkerchief  be  given  back  to  the  Pro- 
fessors. 

"Furthermore,  seeing  that  we  should  all  of  us  like 
to  have  a  quiet  evening  with  the  prisoner,  we  should 
petition  the  Mayor  and  Mayoress  to  ask  him  to  meet 
all  here  present  at  dinner  to-morrow  evening,  after  his 
discharge,  on  the  plea  that  Professors  Hanky  and 
Panky  and  Dr.  Downie  may  give  him  counsel,  con- 
vince him  of  his  folly,  and  if  possible  free  him  hence- 
forth from  the  monomania  under  which  he  now 
suffers. 

"The  prisoner  shall  give  his  word  of  honour,  never 
to  return  to  Erewhon,  nor  to  encourage  any  of  his 
countrymen  to  do  so.  After  the  dinner  to  which  we 
hope  the  Mayoress  will  invite  us,  the  Ranger,  if  the 
night  is  fair,  shall  escort  the  prisoner  as  far  as  the 
statues,  whence  he  will  find  his  own  way  home. 

"Those  who  are  in  favour  of  this  compromise  hold 
up  their  hands." 

The  Mayor  and  Yram  held  up  theirs.  "Will  you 
hold  up  yours.  Professor  Hanky,"  said  George,  "if  I 
release  you?" 

"Yes,"  said  Hanky  with  a  gruff  laugh,  whereon 
George  released  him  and  he  held  up  both  his  hands. 

Panky  did  not  hold  up  his,  whereon  Hanky  said, 
"Hold  up  your  hands,  Panky,  can't  you?  We  are 
really  very  well  out  of  it." 

Panky,  hardly  lifting  his  head  sobbed  out,  "I  think 
we  ought  to  have  our  f-f-fo-fo-four  pounds  ten  re- 
turned to  us." 

"I  am  afraid,  sir,"  said  George,  "that  the  prisoner 
must  have  spent  the  greater  part  of  this  money." 

Every  one  smiled,  indeed  it  was  all  George  could  do 


The  Compromise  217 

to  prevent  himself  from  laughing  outright.  The 
Mayor  brought  out  his  purse,  counted  the  money,  and 
handed  it  good-humouredly  to  Panky,  who  gratefully 
received  it,  and  said  he  would  divide  it  with  Hanky. 
He  then  held  up  his  hands,  "But,"  he  added,  turning 
to  his  brother  Professor,  "so  long  as  I  live,  Hanky,  I 
will  never  go  out  anywhere  again  with  you." 

George  then  turned  to  Hanky  and  said,  "I  am 
afraid  I  must  now  trouble  you  and  Professor  Panky  to 
depose  on  oath  to  the  facts  which  Mrs.  Humdrum 
and  Dr.  Downie  propose  you  should  swear  to  in  open 
court  to-morrow.  I  knew  you  would  do  so,  and  have 
brought  an  ordinary  form,  duly  filled  up,  which  de- 
clares that  the  prisoner  is  not  the  poacher  you  met  on 
Thursday;  and  also,  that  he  has  been  long  known  to 
both  of  you  as  a  harmless  monomaniac." 

As  he  spoke  he  brought  out  depositions  to  the  above 
effect  which  he  had  just  written  in  his  office;  he  shewed 
the  Professors  that  the  form  was  this  time  an  innocent 
one,  whereon  they  made  no  demur  to  signing  and 
swearing  in  the  presence  of  the  Mayor,  who  attested. 

"The  former  depositions,"  said  Hanky,  "had  better 
l)e  destroyed  at  once." 

"That,"  said  George,  "may  hardly  be,  but  so  long 
as  you  stick  to  what  you  have  just  sworn  to,  they  will 
not  be  used  against  you." 

Hanky  scowled,  but  knew  that  he  was  powerless 
and  .said  no  more. 


The  knowledge  of  what  ensued  did  not  reach  me 
from  my  father.  George  and  his  mother,  seeing  how 
ill  he  looked,  and  what  a  shock  the  events  of  the  last 
few  days  had  given  him,  resolved  that  he  should  not 


2i8  Erewhon  Revisited 

know  of  the  risk  that  George  was  about  to  run;  they 
therefore  said  nothing  to  him  about  it.  What  I  shall 
now  tell,  I  learned  on  the  occasion  already  referred  to 
when  I  had  the  happiness  to  meet  George.  I  am  in 
some  doubt  whether  it  is  more  fitly  told  here,  or  when 
I  come  to  the  interview  between  him  and  me;  on  the 
whole,  however,  I  suppose  chronological  order  is  least 
outraged  by  dealing  with  it  here. 

As  soon  as  the  Professors  had  signed  the  second 
depositions,  George  said,  "I  have  not  yet  held  up  my 
hands,  but  I  will  hold  them  up  if  Mrs.  Humdrum  and 
Dr.  Downie  will  approve  of  what  I  propose.  Their 
compromise  does  not  go  far  enough,  for  swear  as  we 
may,  it  is  sure  to  get  noised  abroad,  with  the  usual 
exaggerations,  that  the  Sunchild  has  been  here,  and 
that  he  has  been  spirited  away  either  by  us,  or  by  the 
sun  his  father.  For  one  person  whom  we  know  of  as 
having  identified  him,  there  will  be  five,  of  whom  we 
know  nothing,  and  whom  we  cannot  square.  Reports 
will  reach  the  King  sooner  or  later,  and  I  shall  be  sent 
for.  Meanwhile  the  Professors  will  be  living  in  fear 
of  intrigue  on  my  part,  and  I,  however  unreasonably, 
shall  fear  the  like  on  theirs.  This  should  not  be.  I 
mean,  therefore,  on  the  day  following  my  return  from 
escorting  the  prisoner,  to  set  out  for  the  capital,  see 
the  King,  and  make  a  clean  breast  of  the  whole  matter. 
To  this  end  I  must  have  the  nuggets,  the  prisoner's  kit, 
his  receipt,  Professor  Hanky's  handkerchief,  and,  of 
course,  the  two  depositions  just  sworn  to  by  the  Pro- 
fessors. I  hope  and  think  that  the  King  will  pardon 
us  all  round ;  but  whatever  he  may  do  I  shall  tell  him 
everything" 

Hanky  was  up  in  arms  at  once.    "Sheer  madness," 


The  Compromise  219 

he  exclaimed.  Yram  and  the  Mayor  looked  anxious  j 
Dr.  Downie  eyed  George  as  though  he  were  some  curi- 
ous creature,  which  he  heard  of  but  had  never  seen, 
and  was  rather  disposed  to  like.  Mrs.  Humdrum 
nodded  her  head  approvingly. 

"Quite  right,  George,"  said  she,  "tell  his  Majesty 
everything." 

Dr.  Downie  then  said,  "Your  son.  Mayoress  is  a 
very  sensible  fellow.  I  will  go  with  him,  and  with  the 
Professors — for  they  had  better  come  too;  each  will 
hear  what  the  other  says,  and  we  will  tell  the  truth,  the 
whole  truth,  and  nothing  but  the  truth.  I  am,  as  you 
know,  a  persona  grata  at  Court;  I  will  say  that  I  ad- 
vised your  son's  action.  The  King  has  liked  him  ever 
since  he  was  a  boy,  and  I  am  not  much  afraid  about 
what  he  will  do.  In  public,  no  doubt  we  had  better 
hush  things  up,  but  in  private  the  King  must  be  told." 

Hanky  fought  hard  for  some  time,  but  George  told 
him  that  it  did  not  matter  whether  he  agreed  or  no. 
"You  can  come,"  he  said,  "or  stop  away,  just  as  you 
please.  If  you  come,  you  can  hear  and  speak;  if  you 
do  not,  you  will  not  hear,  but  these  two  depositions 
will  speak  for  you.    Please  yourself." 

"Very  well,"  he  said  at  last,  "I  suppose  we  had 
better  go." 

Every  one  having  now  understood  what  his  or  her 
part  was  to  be,  Yram  said  they  had  better  shake  hands 
all  round  and  take  a  couple  of  hours'  rest  before  get- 
ting ready  for  the  banquet.  George  said  that  the  Pro- 
fessors did  not  shake  hands  with  him  very  cordially, 
but  the  farce  was  gone  through.  WHicn  the  hand- 
shaking was  over,  Dr.  Downie  and   Mrs.   Humdrum 


220  Erewhon  Revisited 

left  the  house,  and  the  Professors  retired  gmmpily  to 
their  own  room. 

I  will  say  here  that  no  harm  happend  either  to 
George  or  the  Professors  in  consequence  of  his  having 
told  the  King,  but  will  reser\'e  particulars  for  my  con- 
cluding chapter. 


CHAPTER  XXI 

VRAM,   ON   GETTING  RID  OF  HER  GUESTS,   GOES  TO 
THE   PRISON   TO   SEE   MY   FATHER 

Yram  did  not  take  the  advice  she  had  given  her 
guests,  but  set  about  preparing  a  basket  of  the  best  cold 
dainties  she  could  find,  including  a  bottle  of  choice 
wine  that  she  knew  my  father  would  like;  thus  loaded 
she  went  to  the  gaol,  which  she  entered  by  her  father's 
private  entrance. 

It  was  now  about  half -past  four,  so  that  much  more 
must  have  been  said  and  done  after  luncheon  at  the 
Mayor's  than  ever  reached  my  father.  The  wonder  is 
that  he  was  able  to  collect  so  much.  He,  poor  man,  as 
soon  as  George  left  him,  flung  himself  on  to  the  bed 
that  was  in  his  cell  and  lay  there  wakeful,  but  not  un- 
fjuiet,  till  near  the  time  when  Yram  reached  the  gaol. 

The  old  gaoler  came  to  tell  him  that  she  had  come 
and  would  be  glad  to  sec  him  ;  nuich  as  he  dreaded  the 
meeting  there  was  no  avoiding  it,  and  in  a  few  min- 
utes Yram  stood  before  him. 

Both  were  agitated,  but  ^'ram  betrayed  less  of  what 
she  felt  than  my  father.  I  le  could  only  bow  his  head 
and  cover  his  face  with  his  hands.  Yram  said,  "We 
are  old  friends ;  take  your  hands  from  your  face  and 
let  me  see  you.     There!    That  is  well." 

She  took  his  right  hand  between  both  hers,  looked  at 
him  with  eyes  full  of  kindness,  and  said  softly — 

221 


222  Erewhon  Revisited 

"You  are  not  much  changed,  but  you  look  haggard, 
worn,  and  ill ;  I  am  uneasy  about  you.  Remember,  you 
are  among  friends,  who  will  see  that  no  harm  befalls 
you.    There  is  a  look  in  your  eyes  that  frightens  me." 

As  she  spoke  she  took  the  wine  out  of  her  basket, 
and  poured  him  out  a  glass,  but  rather  to  give  him 
some  little  thing  to  distract  his  attention,  than  because 
she  expected  him  to  drink  it — which  he  could  not  do. 

She  never  asked  him  whether  he  found  her  altered, 
or  turned  the  conversation  ever  such  a  little  on  to  her- 
self;  all  was  for  him;  to  sooth  and  comfort  him,  not  in 
words  alone,  but  in  look,  manner,  and  voice.  My 
father  knew  that  he  could  thank  her  best  by  con- 
trolling himself,  and  letting  himself  be  soothed  and 
comforted — at  any  rate  so  far  as  he  could  seem  to  be. 

Up  to  this  time  they  had  been  standing,  but  now 
Yram,  seeing  my  father  calmer,  said,  "Enough,  let  us 
sit  down." 

So  saying  she  seated  herself  at  one  end  of  the  small 
table  that  was  in  the  cell,  and  motioned  my  father  to 
sit  opposite  to  her.  "The  light  hurts  you?"  she  said, 
for  the  sun  was  coming  into  the  room.  "Change 
places  with  me,  I  am  a  sun  w^orshipper.  No,  we  can 
move  the  table,  and  we  can  then  see  each  other  better." 

This  done,  she  said,  still  ver>'  softly,  "And  now  tell 
me  what  it  is  all  about.    Why  have  you  come  here?" 

"Tell  me  first,"  said  my  father,  "what  befell  you 
after  I  had  been  taken  away.  Why  did  you  not  send 
me  word  when  you  found  what  had  happened?  or 
come  after  me?  You  know  I  should  have  married  you 
at  once,  unless  they  bound  me  in  fetters." 

'T  know  you  would ;  but  you  remember  Mrs.  Hum- 
drum?   Yes,  I  see  you  do.     I  told  her  everything;  it 


Yram  Visits  My  Father        223 

was  she  who  saved  me.  We  thought  of  you,  but  she 
saw  that  it  would  not  do.  As  I  was  to  marry  Mr. 
Strong,  the  more  you  were  lost  sight  of  the  better,  but 
with  George  ever  with  me  I  have  not  been  able  to  for- 
get you.  I  might  have  been  very  happy  with  you,  but 
I  could  not  have  been  happier  than  I  have  been  ever 
since  that  short  dreadful  time  was  over.  George  must 
tell  you  the  rest.  I  cannot  do  so.  All  is  well.  I  love 
my  husband  with  my  whole  heart  and  soul,  and  he 
loves  me  with  his.  As  between  him  and  me,  he  knows 
everything;  George  is  his  son,  not  yours;  we  have 
settled  it  so,  though  we  both  know  otherwise;  as  be- 
tween you  and  me,  for  this  one  hour,  here,  there  is  no 
use  in  pretending  that  you  are  not  George's  father.  I 
have  said  all  I  need  say.  Now,  tell  me  what  I  asked 
you — Why  are  you  here?" 

"I  fear,"  said  my  father,  set  at  rest  by  the  sweet- 
ness of  Yram's  voice  and  manner — he  told  me  he  had 
never  seen  any  one  to  compare  with  her  except  my 
mother — "I  fear,  to  do  as  much  harm  now  as  I  did  be- 
fore, and  with  as  little  wish  to  do  any  harm  at  all." 

He  then  told  her  all  that  the  reader  knows,  and  ex- 
plained how  he  had  tiiought  he  could  have  gone  about 
the  country  as  a  peasant,  and  seen  how  she  herself  had 
fared,  without  her,  or  any  one,  even  suspecting  that 
he  was  in  the  country. 

"You  say  your  wife  is  dead,  and  that  she  left  you 
with  a  son — is  he  like  George?" 

"In  mind  and  disposition,  wonderfully;  in  appear- 
ance, no;  he  is  dark  and  takes  after  his  mother,  and 
though  he  is  handsome,  he  is  not  so  good-looking  as 
George." 


224  Erewhon  Revisited 

"No  one,"  said  George's  mother,  "ever  was,  or  ever 
will  be,  and  he  is  as  good  as  he  looks." 

"I  should  not  have  believed  you  if  you  had  said  he 
was  not." 

"That  is  right.  I  am  glad  you  are  proud  of  him. 
He  irradiates  the  lives  of  every  one  of  us." 

"And  the  mere  knowledge  that  he  exists  will  irradi- 
ate the  rest  of  mine." 

"Long  may  it  do  so.  Let  us  now  talk  about  this 
morning — did  you  mean  to  declare  yourself?" 

"I  do  not  know  what  I  meant ;  what  I  most  cared 
about  was  the  doing  what  I  thought  George  would 
wish  to  see  his  father  do." 

"You  did  that;  but  he  says  he  told  you  not  to  say 
who  you  were." 

"So  he  did,  but  I  knew  what  he  would  think  right. 
He  was  uppermost  in  my  thoughts  all  the  time." 

Yram  smiled,  and  said,  "George  is  a  dangerous  per- 
son; you  were  both  of  you  very  foolish;  one  as  bad  as 
the  other." 

"I  do  not  know.  I  do  not  know  anything.  It  is  be- 
yond me;  but  I  am  at  peace  about  it,  and  hope  I  shall 
do  the  like  again  to-morrow  before  the  Mayor." 

"I  heartily  hope  you  will  do  nothing  of  the  kind. 
George  tells  me  you  have  promised  him  to  be  good  and 
to  do  as  we  bid  you." 

"So  I  will ;  but  he  will  not  tell  me  to  say  that  I  am 
not  what  I  am." 

"Yes,  he  will,  and  I  will  tell  you  why.  H  we  permit 
you  to  be  Higgs  the  Sunchild,  he  must  either  throw  his 
own  father  into  the  Blue  Pool — which  he  will  not  do 
— or  run  great  risk  of  being  thrown  into  it  himself, 
for  not  having  Blue-Pooled  a  foreigner.    I  am  afraid 


Yram  Visits  My  Father        225 

we  shall  have  to  make  you  do  a  good  deal  that  neither 
you  nor  we  shall  like." 

She  then  told  him  briefly  of  what  had  passed  after 
luncheon  at  her  house,  and  what  it  had  been  settled  to 
do,  leaving  George  to  tell  the  details  while  escorting 
him  towards  the  statues  on  the  following  evening.  She 
said  that  every  one  would  be  so  completely  in  every 
one  else's  power  that  there  was  no  fear  of  any  one's 
turning  traitor.  But  she  said  nothing  about  George's 
intention  of  setting  out  for  the  capital  on  Wednesday 
morning  to  tell  the  whole  story  to  the  King. 

"Now,"  she  said,  when  she  had  told  him  as  much 
as  was  necessary,  "be  good,  and  do  as  you  said  you 
would." 

"I  will.  I  will  deny  myself,  not  once,  nor  twice,  but 
as  often  as  is  necessary.  I  will  kiss  the  reliquary,  and 
when  I  meet  Hanky  and  Panky  at  your  table,  I  will  be 
sworn  brother  to  them — so  long,  that  is,  as  George  is 
out  of  hearing;  for  I  cannot  lie  well  to  them  when  he 
is  listening." 

"Oh  yes,  you  can.  He  will  understand  all  about  it ; 
he  enjoys  falsehood  as  well  as  we  all  do,  and  has  the 
nicest  sense  of  when  to  lie  and  when  not  to  do  so." 

"What  gift  can  be  nujre  invaluable?" 

My  father,  knowing  that  he  might  not  have  another 
chance  of  seeing  Yram  alone,  now  changed  the  con- 
versation. 

"I  have  something,"  he  said,  "for  George,  but  he 
must  know  nothing  aliout  it  till  after  I  am  gone." 

As  he  spoke,  he  took  from  his  pockets  the  nine  small 
bags  of  nuggets  that  remained  to  him. 

"But  this,"  said  Yram,  "being  gold,  is  a  large  sum: 


226  Erewhon  Revisited 

can  you  indeed  spare  it,  and  do  you  really  wish  George 
to  have  it  all?" 

"I  shall  be  very  unhappy  if  he  does  not,  but  he  must 
know  nothing  about  it  till  I  am  out  of  Erewhon." 

My  father  then  explained  to  her  that  he  was  now 
very  rich,  and  would  have  brought  ten  times  as  much, 
if  he  had  known  of  George's  existence. 

"Then,"  said  Yram,  musing,  "if  you  are  rich,  I  ac- 
cept and  thank  you  heartily  on  his  behalf.  I  can  see  a 
reason  for  his  not  knowing  what  you  are  giving  him  at 
present,  but  it  is  too  long  to  tell." 

The  reason  was,  that  if  George  knew  of  this  gold 
before  he  saw  the  King,  he  would  be  sure  to  tell  him 
of  it,  and  the  King  might  claim  it,  for  George  would 
never  explain  that  it  was  a  gift  from  father  to  son; 
whereas  if  the  King  had  once  pardoned  him,  he  would 
not  be  so  squeamish  as  to  open  up  the  whole  thing 
again  with  a  postscript  to  his  confession.  But  of  this 
she  said  not  a  word. 

My  father  then  told  her  of  the  box  of  sovereigns 
that  he  had  left  in  his  saddle-bags.  "They  are  coined," 
he  said,  "and  George  will  have  to  melt  them  down,  but 
he  will  find  some  way  of  doing  this.  They  will  be 
worth  rather  more  than  these  nine  bags  of  nuggets." 

"The  difficulty  will  be  to  get  him  to  go  down  and 
fetch  them,  for  it  is  against  his  oath  to  go  far  beyond 
the  statues.  If  you  could  be  taken  faint  and  say  you 
wanted  help,  he  would  see  you  to  your  camping  ground 
without  a  word,  but  he  would  be  angry  if  he  found  he 
had  been  tricked  into  breaking  his  oath  in  order  that 
money  might  be  given  him.  It  would  never  do.  Be- 
sides, there  would  not  be  time,  for  he  must  be  back 
here  on  Tuesday  night.    No;  if  he  breaks  his  oath  he 


Yram  Visits  My  Father        227 

must  do  it  with  his  eyes  open — and  he  will  do  it  later 
on — or  I  will  go  and  fetch  the  money  for  him  myself. 
He  is  in  love  with  a  grand-daughter  of  Mrs.  Hum- 
drum's, and  this  sum,  together  with  what  you  are  now 
leaving  with  me,  will  make  him  a  well-to-do  man.  I 
have  always  been  unhappy  about  his  having  any  of  the 
Mayor's  money,  and  his  salary  was  not  quite  enough 
for  him  to  marry  on.    What  can  I  say  to  thank  you?" 

"Tell  me,  please,  about  Mrs.  Humdrum's  grand- 
daughter.    You  like  her  as  a  wife  for  George?" 

"Absolutely.  She  is  just  such  another  as  her  grand- 
mother must  have  been.  She  and  George  have  been 
sworn  lovers  ever  since  he  was  ten,  and  she  eight.  The 
only  drawback  is  that  her  mother,  Mrs.  Humdrum's 
second  daughter,  married  for  love,  and  there  are  many 
children,  so  that  there  will  be  no  money  with  her;  but 
what  you  are  leaving  will  make  everything  quite  easy, 
for  he  will  sell  the  gold  at  once.  I  am  so  glad  about 
it." 

"Can  you  ask  Mrs.  Humdrum  to  bring  her  grand- 
daughter with  her  to-morrow  evening?" 

"1  am  afraid  not,  for  we  shall  want  to  talk  freely  at 
dinner,  and  she  must  not  know  that  you  are  the  Sun- 
child;  she  shall  come  to  my  house  in  the  afternoon  and 
you  can  see  her  then.  You  will  be  quite  happy  about 
her,  but  of  course  she  must  not  know  that  you  are  her 
father-in-law  that  is  to  be." 

"One  thing  more.  As  George  must  know  nothing 
about  the  sovereigns,  I  must  tell  you  how  I  will  hide 
them.  They  are  in  a  silver  box,  which  I  will  bind  to 
the  bough  of  some  tree  close  to  my  camp;  or  if  I  can 
find  a  tree  with  a  hc)le  in  it  I  will  drop  the  box  into  the 
hole.     He  cannot  miss  my  cajnp;  he  has  only  to  follow 


228  Erewhon  Revisited 

the  stream  that  runs  down  from  the  pass  till  it  gets 
near  a  large  river,  and  on  a  small  triangular  patch  of 
flat  ground,  he  will  see  the  ashes  of  my  camp  fire,  a 
few  yards  away  from  the  stream  on  his  right  hand  as 
he  descends.  In  whatever  tree  I  may  hide  the  box,  I 
will  strew  wood  ashes  for  some  yards  in  a  straight  line 
towards  it.  I  will  then  light  another  fire  underneath, 
and  bl?ze  the  tree  with  a  knife  that  I  have  left  at  my 
camping  ground.     He  is  sure  to  find  it." 

Yram  again  thanked  him,  and  then  my  father,  to 
change  the  conversation,  asked  whether  she  thought 
that  George  really  would  have  Blue-Pooled  the  Pro- 
fessors. 

"There  is  no  knowing,"  said  Yram.  "He  is  the 
gentlest  creature  living  till  some  great  provocation 
rouses  him,  and  I  never  saw  him  hate  and  despise  any 
one  as  he  does  the  Professors.  Much  of  what  he  said 
was  merely  put  on,  for  he  knew  the  Professors  must 
yield.  I  do  not  like  his  ever  having  to  throw  any  one 
into  that  horrid  place,  no  more  does  he,  but  the  Rang- 
ership  is  exactly  the  sort  of  thing  to  suit  him,  and 
the  opening  was  too  good  to  lose.  I  must  now  leave 
you,  and  get  ready  for  the  Mayor's  banquet.  We  shall 
meet  again  to-morrow  evening.  Try  and  eat  what  I 
have  brought  you  in  this  basket.  I  hope  you  will  like 
the  wine."  She  put  out  her  hand,  which  my  father 
took,  and  in  another  moment  she  was  gone,  for  she 
saw  a  look  in  his  face  as  though  he  would  fain  have 
asked  her  to  let  him  once  more  press  his  lips  to  hers. 
Had  he  done  this,  without  thinking  about  it,  it  is  likely 
enough  she  would  not  have  been  ill  pleased.  But  who 
can  say? 

For  the  rest  of  the  evening  my  father  was  left  very 


Yram  Visits  My  Father        229 

much  to  his  own  not  too  comfortable  reflections.  He 
spent  part  of  it  in  posting  up  the  notes  from  which,  as 
well  as  from  his  own  mouth,  my  story  is  in  great  part 
taken.  The  good  things  that  Yram  had  left  with  him, 
and  his  pipe,  which  she  had  told  him  he  might  smoke 
quite  freely,  occupied  another  part,  and  by  ten  o'clock 
he  went  to  bed. 


CHAPTER  XXII 

MAINLY    OCCUPIED    WITH    A   VERACIOUS    EXTRACT 
FROM   A   SUNCH'STONIAN   JOURNAL 

While  my  father  was  thus  wiHng  away  the  hours 
in  his  cell,  the  whole  town  was  being  illuminated  in  his 
honour,  and  not  more  than  a  couple  of  hundred  yards 
off,  at  the  Mayor's  banquet,  he  was  being  extolled  as 
a  superhuman  being. 

The  banquet,  which  was  at  the  town  hall,  was  in- 
deed a  very  brilliant  affair,  but  the  little  space  that  is 
left  me  forbids  my  saying  more  than  that  Hanky  made 
what  was  considered  the  speech  of  the  evening,  and 
betrayed  no  sign  of  ill  effects  from  the  bad  quarter  of 
an  hour  which  he  had  spent  so  recently.  Not  a  trace 
was  to  be  seen  of  any  desire  on  his  part  to  change  his 
tone  as  regards  Sunchildism — as,  for  example,  to 
minimize  the  importance  of  the  relic,  or  to  remind  his 
hearers  that  though  the  chariot  and  horses  had  un- 
doubtedly come  down  from  the  sky  and  carried  away 
my  father  and  mother,  yet  that  the  earlier  stage  of  the 
ascent  had  been  made  in  a  balloon.  It  almost  seemed, 
so  George  told  my  father,  as  though  he  had  resolved 
that  he  would  speak  lies,  all  lies,  and  nothing  but  lies. 

Panky,  who  was  also  to  have  spoken,  was  excused 
by  the  Mayor  on  the  ground  that  the  great  heat  and  the 
excitement  of  the  day's  proceedings  had  quite  robbed 
him  of  his  voice. 

230 


The  Sunch'stonian  Version      231 

Dr.  Downie  had  a  jumping  cat  before  his  mental 
vision.  He  spoke  quietly  and  sensibly,  dwelling  chiefly 
on  the  benefits  that  had  already  accrued  to  the  king- 
dom through  the  abolition  of  the  edicts  against  ma- 
chinery, and  the  great  developments  which  he  foresaw 
as  probable  in  the  near  future.  He  held  up  the  Sun- 
child's  example,  and  his  ethical  teaching,  to  the  imita- 
tion and  admiration  of  his  hearers,  but  he  said  nothing 
about  the  miraculous  element  in  my  father's  career,  on 
which  he  declared  that  his  friend  Professor  Hanky 
had  already  so  eloquently  enlarged  as  to  make  further 
allusion  to  it  superfluous. 

The  reader  knows  what  was  to  happen  on  the  fol- 
lowing morning.  The  programme  concerted  at  the 
Mayor's  was  strictly  adhered  to.  The  following  ac- 
count, however,  which  appeared  in  the  Sunch'ston  bi- 
weekly newspaper  two  days  after  my  father  had  left, 
was  given  me  by  George  a  year  later,  on  the  occasion 
of  that  interview  to  which  I  have  already  more  than 
once  referred.  There  were  other  accounts  in  other 
papers,  but  the  one  I  am  giving  departs  the  least  widely 
from  the  facts.     It  ran  : — 

"The  close  of  a  disagreeable  incident. — Our  readers 
will  remember  that  on  Sunday  last  during  the  solemn 
inauguralif)n  of  the  temple  now  dedicated  to  the  Sun- 
child,  an  individual  on  the  front  l)ench  of  those  set 
apart  for  the  public  suddenly  interrupted  Professor 
Hanky's  clocjucnt  sermon  by  declaring  himself  to  be 
the  Sunchild,  and  saying  that  he  had  come  down  from 
the  sun  to  sanctify  by  his  presence  the  glorious  fane 
which  the  piety  of  our  fellow-citizens  and  others  has 
erected  in  his  honour. 

"Wild   rumours  obtained  credence  throughout  the 


232  Erewhon  Revisited 

congregation  to  the  effect  that  this  person  was  none 
other  than  the  Simchild  himself,  and  in  spite  of  the 
fact  that  his  complexion  and  the  colour  of  his  hair 
showed  this  to  be  impossible,  more  than  one  person 
was  carried  away  by  the  excitement  of  the  moment, 
and  by  some  few  points  of  resemblance  between  the 
stranger  and  the  Sunchild.  Under  the  influence  of  this 
belief,  they  were  preparing  to  give  him  the  honour 
which  they  supposed  justly  due  to  him,  when  to  the 
surprise  of  every  one  he  was  taken  into  custody  by 
the  deservedly  popular  Ranger  of  the  King's  preserves, 
and  in  the  course  of  the  afternoon  it  became  generally 
known  that  he  had  been  arrested  on  the  charge  of  be- 
ing one  of  a  gang  of  poachers  who  have  been  known 
for  some  time  past  to  be  making  such  havoc  among  the 
quails  on  the  preserves. 

"This  offence,  at  all  times  deplored  by  those  who 
desire  that  his  Majesty  shall  enjoy  good  sport  when  he 
honours  us  with  a  visit,  is  doubly  deplorable  during 
the  season  when,  on  the  higher  parts  of  the  preserves, 
the  young  birds  are  not  yet  able  to  shift  for  them- 
selves; the  Ranger,  therefore,  is  indefatigable  in  his 
efforts  to  break  up  the  gang,  and  with  this  end  in  view, 
for  the  last  fortnight  has  been  out  night  and  day  on 
the  remoter  sections  of  the  forest — little  suspecting 
that  the  marauders  would  venture  so  near  Sunch'ston 
as  it  now  seems  they  have  done.  It  is  to  his  extreme 
anxiety  to  detect  and  punish  these  miscreants  that  we 
must  ascribe  the  arrest  of  a  man,  who,  however 
foolish,  and  indeed  guilty,  he  is  in  other  respects,  is 
innocent  of  the  particular  crime  imputed  to  him.  The 
circumstances  that  led  to  his  arrest  have  reached  us 


The  Sunch'stonlan  Version      233 

from  an  exceptionally  well-informed  source,  and  are 
as  follows : — 

"Our  distinguished  guests,  Professors  Hanky  and 
Panky,  both  of  them  justly  celebrated  archaeologists, 
had  availed  themselves  of  the  opportunity  afforded 
them  by  their  visit  to  Sunch'ston,  to  inspect  the  mys- 
terious statues  at  the  head  of  the  stream  that  comes 
down  near  this  city,  and  which  have  hitherto  baffled 
all  those  who  have  tried  to  ascertain  their  date  and 
purpose. 

"On  their  descent  after  a  fatiguing  day  the  Profes- 
sors were  benighted,  and  lost  their  way.  Seeing  the 
light  of  a  small  fire  among  some  trees  near  them,  they 
made  towards  it,  hoping  to  be  directed  rightly,  and 
found  a  man,  respectably  dressed,  sitting  by  the  fire 
with  several  brace  of  quails  beside  him,  some  of  them 
plucked.  Beheving  that  in  spite  of  his  appearance, 
which  would  not  have  led  them  to  suppose  that  he  was 
a  poacher,  he  must  unquestionably  be  one,  they  hur- 
riedly enf|uire(l  their  way,  intending  to  leave  him  as 
soon  as  they  had  got  tlieir  answer;  he,  however,  at- 
tacked them,  or  made  as  though  he  would  do  so,  and 
said  he  would  show  them  a  way  which  they  should  be 
in  no  fear  of  losing,  whereon  Professor  Hanky,  with 
a  well-directed  blow,  felled  him  to  the  ground.  The 
two  Professors,  fearing  that  other  poachers  might 
come  to  his  assistance,  made  off  as  nearly  as  they  could 
guess  in  the  direction  of  Sunch'ston.  When  they  had 
gone  a  mile  or  two  onward  at  haj)hazard,  they  sat 
down  under  a  large  tree,  and  waited  till  day  began  to 
break;  they  then  resumed  their  journay,  and  before 
long  struck  a  path  which  led  them  to  a  spot  from 
which  they  could  see  the  towers  of  the  new  temple. 


234  Erewhon  Revisited 

"Fatigued  though  they  were,  they  waited  before 
taking  tlie  rest  of  which  they  stood  much  in  need,  till 
they  had  reported  their  adventure  at  the  Ranger's  of- 
fice. The  Ranger  was  still  out  on  the  preserves,  but 
immediately  on  his  return  on  Saturday  morning  he 
read  the  description  of  the  poacher's  appearance  and 
dress,  about  which  last,  however,  the  only  remarkable 
feature  was  that  it  was  better  than  a  poacher  might  be 
expected  to  possess,  and  gave  an  air  of  respectability 
to  the  wearer  that  might  easily  disarm  suspicion. 

"The  Ranger  made  enquiries  at  all  the  inns  in 
Sunch'ston,  and  at  length  succeeded  in  hearing  of  a 
stranger  who  appeared  to  correspond  with  the  poacher 
whom  the  Professors  had  seen;  but  the  man  had 
already  left,  and  though  the  Ranger  did  his  best  to 
trace  him  he  did  not  succeed.  On  Sunday  morning, 
however,  he  observed  the  prisoner,  and  found  that  he 
answered  the  description  given  by  the  Professors;  he 
therefore  arrested  him  quietly  in  the  temple,  but  told 
him  that  he  should  not  take  him  to  prison  till  the  ser- 
vice was  over.  The  man  said  he  would  come  quietly 
inasmuch  as  he  should  easily  be  able  to  prove  his  in- 
nocence. In  the  meantime,  however,  he  professed  the 
utmost  anxiety  to  hear  Professor  Hanky's  sermon, 
which  he  said  he  believed  would  concern  him  nearly. 
The  Ranger  paid  no  attention  to  this,  and  was  as  much 
astounded  as  the  rest  of  the  congregation  were,  when 
immediately  after  one  of  Professor  Hanky's  most  elo- 
quent passages,  the  man  started  up  and  declared  him- 
self to  be  the  Sunchild.  On  this  the  Ranger  took  him 
away  at  once,  and  for  the  man's  own  protection  hur- 
ried him  off  to  prison. 

"Professor  Hanky  was  so  much  shocked  at  such 


The  Sunch'stonian  Version      235 

outrageous  conduct,  that  for  the  moment  he  failed  to 
recognise  tlie  offender ;  after  a  few  seconds,  however, 
he  grasped  the  situation,  and  knew  him  to  be  one  who 
on  previous  occasions,  near  Bridgeford,  had  done  what 
he  was  now  doing.  It  seems  that  he  is  notorious  in 
the  neighbourhood  of  Bridgeford,  as  a  monomaniac 
who  is  so  deeply  impressed  with  the  beauty  of  the 
Sunchild's  character — and  we  presume  also  of  his  own 
— as  to  believe  that  he  is  himself  the  Sunchild. 

"Recovering  almost  instantly  from  the  shock  the 
interruption  had  given  him,  the  learned  Professor 
calmed  his  hearers  by  acquainting  them  with  the  facts 
of  the  case,  and  continued  his  sermon  to  the  delight 
of  all  who  heard  it.  We  should  say,  however,  that  the 
gentleman  who  twenty  years  ago  instructed  the  Sun- 
child  in  the  Erewhonian  language,  was  so  struck  with 
some  few  points  of  resemblance  between  the  stranger 
and  his  former  pupil,  that  he  acclaimed  him,  and  was 
removed  forcibly  by  the  vergers. 

"On  Monday  morning  the  prisoner  was  brought  up 
before  tlie  Mayor.  We  cannot  say  whether  it  was  the 
soljering  effect  of  prison  walls,  or  whether  he  had  been 
drinking  l)eforc  he  entered  the  temple,  and  had  now 
had  time  enough  to  recover  himself — at  any  rate  for 
some  reason  or  other  he  was  abjectly  penitent  when  his 
case  came  on  for  hearing.  The  charge  of  poaching 
was  first  gone  into,  but  was  inmicdiately  disposed  of 
by  the  evidence  of  the  two  Professors,  who  stated  that 
the  prisoner  bore  no  rescni1)lancc  to  the  poacher  they 
had  seen,  save  that  he  was  about  the  same  height  and 
age,  and  was  respectably  dressed. 

"The  charge  of  cHsturbing  the  congregation  by  de- 
claring himself  the  Sunchild  was  then  proceeded  with, 


236  Erewhon  Revisited 

and  unnecessary  as  it  may  appear  to  be,  it  was  thought 
advisable  to  prevent  all  possibility  of  the  man's  asser- 
tion being  accepted  by  the  ignorant  as  true,  at  some 
later  date,  when  those  who  could  prove  its  falsehood 
were  no  longer  living.  The  prisoner,  therefore,  was 
removed  to  his  cell,  and  there  measured  by  the  Master 
of  the  Gaol,  and  the  Ranger  in  the  presence  of  the 
Mayor,  who  attested  the  accuracy  of  the  measure- 
ments. Not  one  single  one  of  them  corresponded  with 
those  recorded  of  the  Sunchild  himself,  and  a  few 
marks  such  as  moles,  and  permanent  scars  on  the  Sun- 
child's  body  were  not  found  on  the  prisoner's.  Further- 
more the  prisoner  was  shaggy-breasted,  with  much 
coarse  jet  black  hair  on  the  fore-arms  and  from  the 
knees  downwards,  whereas  the  Sunchild  had  little  hair 
save  on  his  head,  and  what  little  there  was,  was  fine, 
and  very  light  in  colour. 

"Confronted  with  these  discrepancies,  the  gentle- 
man who  had  taught  the  Sunchild  our  language  was 
convinced  of  his  mistake,  though  he  still  maintained 
that  there  was  some  superficial  likeness  between  his 
former  pupil  and  the  prisoner.  Here  he  was  con- 
firmed by  the  Master  of  the  Gaol,  the  Mayoress,  Mrs. 
Humdrum,  and  Professors  Hanky  and  Panky,  who  all 
of  them  could  see  what  the  interpreter  meant,  but  de- 
nied that  the  prisoner  could  be  mistaken  for  the  Sun- 
child for  more  than  a  few  seconds.  No  doubt  the 
prisoner's  unhappy  delusion  has  been  fostered,  if  not 
entirely  caused,  by  his  having  been  repeatedly  told  that 
he  was  like  the  Sunchild.  The  celebrated  Dr.  Downie, 
who  well  remembers  the  Sunchild,  was  also  examined, 
and  gave  his  evidence  with  so  much  convincing  detail 
as  to  make  it  unnecessary  to  call  further  witnesses. 


The  Sunch'stonian  Version      237 

"It  having  been  thus  once  for  all  officially  and  au- 
thoritatively placed  on  record  that  the  prisoner  v^as 
not  the  Sunchild,  Professors  Hanky  and  Panky  then 
identified  him  as  a  well  known  monomaniac  on  the 
subject  of  Sunchildism,  who  in  other  respects  was 
harmless.  We  withhold  his  name  and  place  of  abode, 
out  of  consideration  for  the  well  known  and  highly 
respectable  family  to  which  he  belongs.  The  prisoner 
admitted  with  much  contrition  that  he  had  made  a  dis- 
turbance in  the  temple,  but  pleaded  that  he  had  been 
carried  away  by  the  eloquence  of  Professor  Hanky; 
he  promised  to  avoid  all  like  offence  in  future,  and 
threw  himself  on  the  mercy  of  tlie  court. 

"The  Mayor,  unwilling  that  Sunday's  memorable 
ceremony  should  be  the  occasion  of  a  serious  punish- 
ment to  any  of  those  who  took  part  in  it,  reprimanded 
the  prisoner  in  a  few  severe  but  not  unkindly  words, 
inflicted  a  fine  of  forty  shillings,  and  ordered  that  the 
prisoner  should  be  taken  directly  to  the  temple,  where 
he  should  confess  his  folly  to  the  Manager  and  Head 
Cashier,  and  confirm  his  words  by  kissing  the  reliquary 
in  which  the  newly  found  relic  has  been  placed.  The 
prisoner  being  unable  to  pay  the  fine,  some  of  the  ladies 
and  gentlemen  in  court  kindly  raised  the  amount 
amongst  them,  in  pity  for  the  poor  creature's  obvious 
contrition,  rather  than  .see  him  sent  to  prison  for  a 
month  in  default  of  payment. 

"The  prisoner  was  then  conducted  to  the  temple, 
followed  by  a  considerable  number  of  people.  Strange 
to  .say,  in  spite  of  the  overwhelming  evidence  that  they 
had  just  hoard,  some  few  among  the  followers,  whose 
love  of  the  marvellous  overpowcrcfl  their  reason,  still 
maintained  that  the  prisoner  was  the  Sunchild.    Noth- 


238  Erewhon  Revisited 

ing  could  be  more  decorous  than  the  prisoner's  be- 
haviour when,  after  hearing  the  recantation  that  was 
read  out  to  him  by  the  Manager,  he  signed  the  docu- 
ment with  his  name  and  address,  which  we  again  with- 
hold, and  kissed  the  reliquary  in  confirmation  of  his 
words. 

"The  Mayor  then  declared  the  prisoner  to  be  at 
liberty.  When  he  had  done  so  he  said,  T  strongly  urge 
you  to  place  yourself  under  my  protection  for  the 
present,  that  you  may  be  freed  from  the  impertinent 
folly  and  curiosity  of  some  whose  infatuation  might 
lead  you  from  that  better  mind  to  which  I  believe  you 
are  now  happily  restored.  I  wish  you  to  remain  for 
some  few  hours  secluded  in  the  privacy  of  my  own 
study,  where  Dr.  Downie  and  the  two  excellent  Pro- 
fessors will  administer  that  ghostly  counsel  to  you, 
which  will  be  likely  to  protect  you  from  any  return  of 
your  unhappy  delusion.' 

"The  man  humbly  bowed  assent,  and  was  taken  by 
the  Mayor's  younger  sons  to  the  Mayor's  own  house, 
where  he  was  duly  cared  for.  About  midnight,  when 
all  was  quiet,  he  was  conducted  to  the  outskirts  of  the 
town  towards  Clearwater,  and  furnished  with  enough 
money  to  provide  for  his  more  pressing  necessities  till 
he  could  reach  some  relatives  who  reside  three  or  four 
days'  walk  down  on  the  road  towards  the  capital.  He 
desired  the  man  who  accompanied  him  to  repeat  to  the 
Mayor  his  heartfelt  thanks  for  the  forbearance  and 
generosity  with  which  he  had  been  treated.  The  re- 
membrance of  this,  he  said,  should  be  ever  present 
with  him,  and  he  was  confident  would  protect  him  if 
his  unhappy  monomania  shewed  any  signs  of  return- 
ing. 


The  Sunch'stonian  Version      239 

"Let  us  now,  however,  remind  our  readers  that  the 
poacher  who  threatened  Professors  Hanky  and 
Panky's  life  on  Thursday  evening  last  is  still  at  large. 
He  is  evidently  a  man  of  desperate  character,  and  it  is 
to  be  hoped  that  our  fellow-citizens  will  give  imme- 
diate information  at  the  Ranger's  office  if  they  see  any 
stranger  in  the  neighbourhood  of  the  preserves  whom 
they  may  have  reasonable  grounds  for  suspecting. 

"PS. — As  we  are  on  the  point  of  going  to  press  we 
learn  that  a  dangerous  lunatic,  who  has  been  for  some 
years  confined  in  the  Clearwater  asylum,  succeeded  in 
escaping  on  the  night  of  Wednesday  last,  and  it  is 
surmised  with  much  probability,  that  this  was  the  man 
who  threatened  the  two  Professors  on  Thursday  eve- 
ning. His  being  alone,  his  having  dared  to  light  a  fire, 
probably  to  cook  quails  which  he  had  been  driven  to 
kill  from  stress  of  hunger,  the  respectability  of  his 
dress,  and  the  fury  with  which  he  would  have  attacked 
the  two  Professors  single-handed,  but  for  Professor 
Hanky's  presence  of  mind  in  giving  him  a  knock-down 
blow,  all  point  in  the  direction  of  thinking  that  he  was 
no  true  |X)acher,  but — what  is  even  more  dangerous — 
a  madman  at  large.  We  have  not  received  any  par- 
ticulars as  to  the  man's  appearance,  nor  the  clothes  he 
was  wearing,  but  we  have  little  doubt  that  these  will 
confirm  the  surmise  to  which  we  now  give  publicity. 
H  it  is  correct  it  l)CComcs  doubly  incuml)cnt  on  all  our 
fellow-citizens  to  be  both  on  the  watch,  and  on  their 
guard. 

"Wc  may  add  that  the  man  was  fully  I)clievcd  to 
have  taken  the  direction  towards  the  capital ;  hence  no 
attempts  were  made  to  look  for  him  in  the  neighbour- 


240  Erewhon  Revisited 

hood  of  Sunch'ston,  until  news  of  the  threatened  at- 
tack on  the  Professors  led  the  keeper  of  the  asylum  to 
feel  confident  that  he  had  hitherto  been  on  a  wrong 
scent." 


CHAPTER  XXIII 

MY  FATHER  IS  ESCORTED  TO  THE  MAYOR'S  HOUSE, 
AND  IS  INTRODUCED  TO  A  FUTURE  DAUGHTER-IN- 
LAW 

My  father  said  he  was  followed  to  the  Mayor's 
house  by  a  good  many  people,  whom  the  Mayor's  sons 
in  vain  tried  to  get  rid  of.  One  or  two  of  these  still 
persisted  in  saying  he  was  the  Sunchild — whereon  an- 
other said,  "But  his  hair  is  black." 

"Yes,"  was  the  answer,  "but  a  man  can  dye  his  hair, 
can  he  not?  look  at  his  blue  eyes  and  his  eye-lashes?" 

My  father  was  doubting  whether  he  ought  not  to 
again  deny  his  identity  out  of  loyalty  to  the  Mayor 
and  Yram,  when  George's  next  brother  said,  "Pay  no 
attention  to  them,  but  step  out  as  fast  as  you  can." 
This  settled  the  matter,  and  in  a  few  minutes  they  were 
at  the  Mayor's,  where  the  young  men  took  him  into 
the  study;  the  elder  said  with  a  smile,  "We  should  like 
to  stay  and  talk  to  you,  but  my  mother  said  we  were 
not  to  do  so."  Whereon  they  left  him  much  to  his 
regret,  but  he  gathered  rightly  that  they  had  not  been 
officially  told  who  he  was,  and  were  to  l^e  left  to  think 
what  they  liked,  at  any  rate  for  the  present. 

In  a  few  minutes  the  Mayor  entered,  and  g^oing 
.straight  up  to  my  father  shook  him  cordially  by  the 
hand. 

"I  have  brought  you  this  morning's  paper,"  said  he. 

241 


242  Erewhon  Revisited 

"You  will  find  a  full  report  of  Professor  Hanky's  ser- 
mon, and  of  the  speeches  at  last  night's  banquet.  You 
see  they  pass  over  your  little  interruption  with  hardly 
a  word,  but  I  dare  say  they  will  have  made  up  their 
minds  about  it  all  by  Thursday's  issue." 

He  laughed  as  he  produced  the  paper — ^which  my 
father  brought  home  with  him,  and  without  which  I 
should  not  have  been  able  to  report  Hanky's  sermon  as 
fully  as  I  have  done.  But  my  father  could  not  let 
things  pass  over  thus  lightly. 

"I  thank  you,"  he  said,  "but  I  have  much  more  to 
thank  you  for,  and  know  not  how  to  do  it." 

"Can  you  not  trust  me  to  take  everything  as  said?" 

"Yes,  but  I  cannot  trust  myself  not  to  be  haunted  if 
I  do  not  say — or  at  any  rate  try  to  say — some  part  of 
what  I  ought  to  say." 

"Very  well;  then  I  will  say  something  myself.  I 
have  a  small  joke,  the  only  one  I  ever  made,  which  I 
inflict  periodically  upon  my  wife.  You,  and  I  sup- 
pose George,  are  the  only  two  other  people  in  the  world 
to  whom  it  can  ever  be  told ;  let  me  see,  then,  if  I  can- 
not break  the  ice  with  it.  It  is  this.  Some  men  have 
twin  sons ;  George  in  this  topsy  turvey  world  of  ours 
has  twin  fathers — you  by  luck,  and  me  by  cunning.  I 
see  you  smile ;  give  me  your  hand." 

My  father  took  the  Mayor's  hand  between  both  his 
own.  "Had  I  been  in  your  place,"  he  said,  "I  should 
be  glad  to  hope  that  I  might  have  done  as  you  did." 

"And  I,"  said  the  Mayor,  more  readily  than  might 
have  been  expected  of  him,  "fear  that  if  I  had  been  in 
yours — I  should  have  made  it  the  proper  thing  for  you 
to  do.  There!  The  ice  is  well  broken,  and  now  for 
business.     You  will  lunch  with  us,  and  dine  in  the 


At  the  Mayor's  House         243 

evening.  I  have  given  it  out  that  you  are  of  good 
family,  so  there  is  nothing  odd  in  this.  At  lunch  you 
will  not  be  the  Sunchild,  for  my  younger  children  will 
be  there ;  at  dinner  all  present  will  know  who  you  are, 
so  we  shall  be  free  as  soon  as  the  servants  are  out  of 
the  room. 

"I  am  sorry,  but  I  must  send  you  away  with  George 
as  soon  as  the  streets  are  empty — say  at  midnight — 
for  the  excitement  is  too  great  to  allow  of  your  stay- 
ing longer.  We  must  keep  your  rug  and  the  things 
you  cook  with,  but  my  wife  will  find  you  what  will 
serve  your  turn.  There  is  no  moon,  so  you  and  George 
will  camp  out  as  soon  as  you  get  well  on  to  the  pre- 
serves; the  weather  is  hot,  and  you  will  neither  of  you 
take  any  harm.  To-morrow  by  mid-day  you  will  be 
at  the  statues,  where  George  must  bid  you  good-bye, 
for  he  must  be  at  Sunch'ston  to-morrow  night.  You 
will  doubtless  get  safely  home;  I  wish  with  all  my 
heart  that  I  could  hear  of  your  having  done  so,  but 
this,  I  fear,  may  not  be." 

"So  l3e  it,"  replied  my  father,  "but  there  is  some- 
thing I  should  yet  say.  The  Mayoress  has  no  doubt 
told  you  of  some  gold,  coined  and  uncoined,  that  I  am 
leaving  for  George.  She  will  also  have  told  you  that 
I  am  rich ;  this  being  so,  I  should  have  brought  him 
much  more,  if  I  had  known  that  there  was  any  such 
person.  You  have  other  children;  if  you  leave  him 
anything,  you  will  be  taking  it  away  from  your  own 
flesh  and  blood;  if  you  leave  him  nothing,  it  will  be  a 
slur  upon  him.  I  must  therefore  send  you  enough 
gold  to  provide  for  George  as  your  other  children  will 
be  provided  for;  you  can  settle  it  u\)(m  him  at  once, 
and  make  it  clear  that  the  settlement  is  instead  of  pro- 


244  Erewhon  Revisited 

vision  for  him  by  will.  Tlie  difficulty  is  in  the  getting 
the  gold  into  Erewhon,  and  until  it  is  actually  here,  he 
must  know  nothing  about  it." 

I  have  no  space  for  the  discussion  that  followed.  In 
the  end  it  was  settled  that  George  was  to  have  £2000 
in  gold,  which  the  Mayor  declared  to  be  too  much,  and 
my  father  too  little.  Both,  however,  were  agreed  that 
Erewhon  would  before  long  be  compelled  to  enter  into 
relations  with  foreign  countries,  in  which  case  the 
value  of  gold  would  decline  so  much  as  to  make  £2000 
worth  little  more  than  it  would  be  in  England.  The 
Mayor  proposed  to  buy  land  with  it,  which  he  would 
hand  over  to  George  as  a  gift  from  himself,  and  this 
my  father  at  once  acceded  to.  All  sorts  of  questions 
such  as  will  occur  to  the  reader  were  raised  and  settled, 
but  I  must  beg  him  to  be  content  with  knowing  that 
everything  was  arranged  with  the  good  sense  that  two 
such  men  were  sure  to  bring  to  bear  upon  it. 

The  getting  the  gold  into  Erewhon  was  to  be  man- 
aged thus.  George  was  to  know  nothing,  but  a 
promise  was  to  be  got  from  him  that  at  noon  on  the 
following  New  Year's  day,  or  whatever  day  might  be 
agreed  upon,  he  would  be  at  the  statues,  where  either 
my  father  or  myself  would  meet  him,  spend  a  couple 
of  hours  with  him,  and  then  return.  Whoever  met 
George  was  to  bring  the  gold  as  though  it  were  for 
the  Mayor,  and  George  could  be  trusted  to  be  human 
enough  to  bring  it  down,  when  he  saw  that  it  would 
be  left  where  it  was  if  he  did  not  do  so. 

"He  will  kick  a  good  deal,"  said  the  Mayor,  "at 
first,  but  he  will  come  round  in  the  end." 

Luncheon  was  now  announced.  My  father  was 
feeling  faint  and  ill;  more  than  once  during  the  fore- 


At  the  Mayor's  House         245 

noon  he  had  had  a  return  of  the  strange  giddiness  and 
momentary  loss  of  memory  which  had  already  twice 
attacked  him,  but  he  had  recovered  in  each  case  so 
quickly  that  no  one  had  seen  he  was  unwell.  He,  poor 
man,  did  not  yet  know  what  serious  brain  exhaustion 
these  attacks  betokened,  and  finding  himself  in  liis 
usual  health  as  soon  as  they  passed  away,  set  them 
down  as  simply  effects  of  fatigue  and  undue  excite- 
ment. 

George  did  not  lunch  with  the  others.  Yram  ex- 
plained that  he  had  to  draw  up  a  report  which  would 
occupy  him  till  dinner  time.  Her  three  other  sons,  and 
her  three  lovely  daughters,  were  there.  My  father  was 
delighted  with  all  of  them,  for  they  made  friends  with 
him  at  once.  He  had  feared  that  he  would  have  been 
disgraced  in  their  eyes,  by  his  having  just  come  from 
prison,  but  whatever  they  may  have  thought,  no  trace 
of  anything  but  a  little  engaging  timidity  on  the  girls' 
part  was  to  be  seen.  The  two  elder  boys — or  rather 
young  men,  for  they  seemed  fully  grown,  though,  like 
George,  not  yet  bearded — treated  him  as  already  an 
old  acquaintance,  while  the  youngest,  a  lad  of  four- 
teen, walked  straight  up  to  him,  put  out  his  hand,  and 
said,  "How  do  you  do,  sir?"  with  a  pretty  blu.sh  that 
went  straight  to  my  father's  heart. 

"Tlie.se  boys,"  he  said  to  Yram  aside,  "who  have 
nothing  to  blush  for — see  how  the  blood  mantles  into 
their  young  checks,  while  T,  who  .should  blusii  at  be- 
ing .spoken  to  by  them,  cannot  do  so." 

"Do  not  tilk  non.sensc,"  said  Yram,  with  mock  se- 
verity. 

But  it  was  no  nonsense  to  my  poor  father.  I  \c  was 
awed  at  the  goodness  and  1)eauty  with  which  he  found 


246  Erewhon  Revisited 

himself  surrounded.  His  thoughts  were  too  full  of 
what  had  been,  what  was,  and  what  was  yet  to  be,  to 
let  him  devote  himself  to  these  young  people  as  he 
would  dearly  have  liked  to  do.  He  could  only  look  at 
them,  wonder  at  them,  fall  in  love  with  them,  and 
thank  heaven  that  George  had  been  brought  up  in  such 
a  household. 

When  luncheon  was  over,  Yram  said,  "I  will  now 
send  you  to  a  room  where  you  can  lie  down  and  go 
to  sleep  for  a  few  hours.  You  will  be  out  late  to- 
night, and  had  better  rest  while  you  can.  Do  you 
remember  the  drink  you  taught  us  to  make  of  corn 
parched  and  ground  ?  You  used  to  say  you  liked  it.  A 
cup  shall  be  brought  to  your  room  at  about  five,  for  you 
must  try  and  sleep  till  then.  If  you  notice  a  little  box 
on  the  dressing-table  of  your  room,  you  will  open  it 
or  no  as  you  like.  About  half-past  five  there  will  be  a 
visitor,  whose  name  you  can  guess,  but  I  shall  not  let 
her  stay  long  with  you.  Here  comes  the  servant  to 
take  you  to  your  room."  On  this  she  smiled,  and 
turned  somewhat  hurriedly  away. 

My  father  on  reaching  his  room  went  to  the  dress- 
ing-table, where  he  saw  a  small  unpretending  box, 
which  he  immediately  opened.  On  the  top  was  a  paper 
with  the  words,  "Look — say  nothing — forget."  Be- 
neath this  was  some  cotton  wool,  and  then — the  two 
buttons  and  the  lock  of  his  own  hair,  that  he  had 
given  Yram  when  he  said  good-bye  to  her. 

The  ghost  of  the  lock  that  Yram  had  then  given 
him  rose  from  the  dead,  and  smote  him  as  with  a 
whip  across  the  face.  On  what  dust-heap  had  it  not 
been  thrown  how  many  long  years  ago?  Then  she  had 
never   forgotten  him?  to  have  been  remembered  all 


At  the  Mayor's  House         247 

these  years  by  such  a  woman  as  that,  and  never  to 
have  heeded  it — never  to  have  found  out  what  she  was 
though  he  had  seen  her  day  after  day  for  months.  Ah ! 
but  she  was  then  still  budding.  That  was  no  excuse. 
If  a  loveable  woman — aye,  or  any  woman — has  loved 
a  man,  even  though  he  cannot  marry  her,  or  even  wish 
to  do  so,  at  any  rate  let  him  not  forget  her — and  he 
had  forgotten  Yram  as  completely  until  the  last  few 
days,  as  though  he  had  never  seen  her.  He  took  her 
little  missive,  and  under  "Look,"  he  wrote,  "I  have;" 
under  "Say  nothing,"  "I  will;"  under  "forget," 
"never."  "And  I  never  shall,"  he  said  to  himself,  as 
he  replaced  the  box  upon  the  table.  lie  then  lay  down 
to  rest  upon  the  bed,  but  he  could  get  no  sleep. 

When  the  servant  brought  him  his  imitation  coffee 
— an  imitation  so  successful  that  Yram  made  him  a 
packet  of  it  to  replace  the  tea  that  he  must  leave  be- 
hind him — he  rose  and  presently  came  downstairs  into 
the  drawing-room,  where  he  found  "S'ram  and  Mrs. 
Humdrum's  grand-daughter,  of  whom  I  will  say 
nothing,  for  I  have  never  seen  her,  and  know  noth- 
ing about  her,  except  that  my  father  found  her  a 
sweet-looking  girl,  of  graceful  figure  and  very  attrac- 
tive expression.  He  was  quite  hap[)y  al)out  her,  but 
she  was  too  young  and  shy  to  make  it  possible  for  him 
to  do  more  than  admire  her  appearance,  and  take 
Yram's  word  fc^r  it  that  she  was  as  good  as  she  looked. 


CHAPTER    XXIV 

AFTER  DINNER,  DR.  DOWNIE  AND  THE  PROFESSORS 
WOULD  BE  GLAD  TO  KNOW  WHAT  IS  TO  BE  DONE 
ABOUT  SUNCHILDISM 

It  was  about  six  when  George's  fiancee  left  the 
house,  and  as  soon  as  she  had  done  so,  Yram  began  to 
see  about  the  rug  and  the  best  substitutes  she  could 
find  for  the  billy  and  pannikin.  She  had  a  basket 
packed  with  all  that  my  father  and  George  would  want 
to  eat  and  drink  while  on  the  preserves,  and  enough 
of  everything,  except  meat,  to  keep  my  father  going 
till  he  could  reach  the  shepherd's  hut  of  which  I  have 
already  spoken.  Meat  would  not  keep,  and  my  father 
could  get  plenty  of  flappers — i.e.  ducks  that  cannot  yet 
fly — when  he  was  on  the  river-bed  down  below. 

The  above  preparations  had  not  been  made  very 
long  before  Mrs.  Humdrum  ""arrived,  followed  pres- 
ently by  Dr.  Downie  and  in  due  course  by  the  Pro- 
fessors, who  were  still  staying  in  the  house.  My 
father  remembered  Mrs.  Humdrum's  good  honest 
face,  but  could  not  bring  Dr.  Downie  to  his  recollec- 
tion till  the  Doctor  told  him  when  and  where  they  had 
met,  and  then  he  could  only  very  uncertainly  recall 
him,  though  he  vowed  that  he  could  now  do  so  per- 
fectly well. 

"At  any  rate,"  said  Hanky,  advancing  towards  him 
with  his  best  Bridgeford  manner,  "you  will  not  have 

248 


What  About  Sunchildism?      249 

forgotten  meeting  my  brother  Professor  and  myself." 

"It  has  been  rather  a  forgetting  sort  of  a  moniing," 
said  my  father  demurely,  "but  I  can  remember  that 
much,  and  am  delighted  to  renew  my  acquaintance 
with  both  of  you." 

As  he  spoke  he  shook  hands  with  both  Professors. 

George  was  a  little  late,  but  when  he  came,  dinner 
was  announced.  My  father  sat  on  Yram's  right-hand, 
Dr.  Downie  on  her  left.  George  was  next  my  father, 
with  Mrs.  Humdrum  opposite  to  him.  The  Professors 
sat  one  on  either  side  of  the  Mayor.  During  dinner 
the  conversation  turned  almost  entirely  on  my  father's 
flight,  his  narrow  escape  from  drowning,  and  his 
adventures  on  hib  return  to  England ;  about  these  last 
my  father  w^as  very  reticent,  for  he  said  nothing  about 
his  book,  and  antedated  his  accession  of  wealth  by 
some  fifteen  years,  but  as  he  walked  up  towards  the 
statues  with  George  he  told  him  everything. 

My  father  repeatedly  tried  to  turn  the  conversation 
from  himself,  but  Mrs.  Humdrum  and  Yram  wanted 
to  know  about  Xna  Haras,  as  they  persisted  in  calling 
my  mother — how  she  endured  her  terrible  experiences 
in  the  balloon,  when  she  and  my  father  were  married, 
all  about  my  unworthy  self,  and  Kngland  generally. 
No  matter  how  often  he  jjcgan  to  ask  questions  about 
the  Nosnibors  and  other  old  acf|uainfnn(cs,  both  the 
ladies  soon  went  back  to  his  own  adventures.  He  suc- 
ceeded, however,  in  learning  that  Mr.  Nosnibor  was 
dead,  and  Znlora,  an  old  maid  of  the  most  unattractive 
kind,  who  harl  persistently  refused  to  accept  Sun- 
childism, while  Mrs.  No.snibor  was  the  recipient  of 
honours  hardly  inferior  to  those  conferred  bv  the 
people  at  large  on  my  father  and  mother,  with  whom. 


250  Erewhon  Revisited 

indeed,  she  believed  herself  to  have  frequent  inter- 
views by  way  of  visionary  revelations.  So  intolerable 
were  these  revelations  to  Zulora,  that  a  separate 
establishment  had  been  provided  for  her  George  said 
to  my  father  quietly — "Do  you  know  I  begin  to  think 
that  Zulora  must  be  rather  a  nice  person." 

"Perhaps,"  said  my  father  grimly,  "but  my  wife 
and  I  did  not  find  it  out." 

When  the  ladies  left  the  room,  Dr.  Downie  took 
Yram's  seat,  and  Hanky  Dr.  Downie's;  the  Mayor 
took  Mrs.  Humdrum's,  leaving  my  father,  George, 
and  Panky,  in  their  old  places.  Almost  immediatel}/. 
Dr.  Downie  said,  "And  now,  Mr,  Higgs,  tell  us,  as  a 
man  of  the  world,  what  we  are  to  do  about  Sun- 
childism?" 

My  father  smiled  at  this.  "You  know,  my  dear  sir, 
as  well  as  I  do,  that  the  proper  thing  would  be  to  put 
me  back  in  prison,  and  keep  me  there  till  you  can  send 
me  down  to  the  capital.  You  should  eat  your  oaths  of 
this  morning,  as  I  would  eat  mine :  tell  every  one  here 
who  I  am ;  let  them  see  that  my  hair  has  been  dyed ; 
get  all  who  knew  me  when  I  was  here  before  to  come 
and  see  me;  appoint  an  unimpeachable  committee  to 
examine  the  record  of  my  marks  and  measurements, 
and  compare  it  with  those  of  my  own  body  You 
should  let  me  be  seen  in  every  town  at  which  I  lodged 
on  my  way  down,  and  tell  people  that  you  had  made 
a  mistake.  When  you  get  to  the  capital,  hand  me  over 
to  the  King's  tender  m.ercies  and  say  that  our  oaths 
were  only  taken  this  morning  to  prevent  a  ferment  in 
the  town.  I  will  play  my  part  very  willingly.  The 
King  can  only  kill  me,  and  I  should  die  like  a  gentle- 
man." 


What  About  Sunchildism?      251 

"They  will  not  do  it,"  said  George  quietly  to  my 
fadier,  "and  I  am  glad  of  it." 

He  was  right.  "This,"  said  Dr.  Downie,  "is  a 
counsel  of  perfection.  Things  have  gone  too  far,  and 
we  are  flesh  and  blood.  What  would  those  who  in 
your  country  come  nearest  to  us  Musical  Bank  I\Ian- 
agers  do  if  they  found  they  had  made  such  a  mistake 
as  we  have,  and  dared  not  own  it?" 

"Do  not  ask  me."  said  my  father;  "the  story  is  too 
long,  and  too  terrible." 

"At  any  rate,  then,  tell  us  what  you  would  have  us 
do  that  is  within  our  reach," 

"I  have  done  you  harm  enough,  and  if  I  preach,  as 
likely  as  not  I  shall  do  more." 

Seeins:,  however,  that  Dr.  Downie  was  anxious  to 
hear  what  he  thought,  my  father  said — 

"Then  I  must  tell  you.  Our  religion  sets  before  us 
an  ideal  which  we  all  cordially  accept,  but  it  also  tells 
us  of  marvels  like  your  chariot  and  horses,  which  we 
most  of  us  reject.  Our  l^ist  teachers  insist  on  the 
ideal,  and  keep  the  marvels  in  the  background.  If  they 
could  say  outright  that  our  age  has  outgrown  them, 
they  would  say  so,  but  this  they  may  not  do ;  neverthe 
less  they  contrive  to  let  their  opinions  l)c  sufficiently 
well  known,  and  their  hearers  are  content  with  this. 

"We  have  others  who  take  a  very  different  course, 
but  of  these  I  will  not  speak.  Roughly,  then,  if  you 
cannot  alK)li.sh  me  altogether,  make  me  a  peg  on  which 
to  hang  all  your  own  Inrst  ethical  and  spiritual  con- 
ceptions. If  you  will  do  this,  and  wriggle  out  of  that 
wretched  relic,  with  that  not  less  wretched  i)icture — if 
you  will  make  me  out  to  be  much  l)etter  and  abler  than 
I  was,  or  ever  shall  be,  Sunchildism  may  serve  your 


252  Erewhon  Revisited 

turn  for  many  a  long  year  to  come.  Otherwise  it  will 
tumble  about  your  heads  before  you  think  it  will. 

"Am  I  to  go  on  or  stop?" 

"Go  on,"  said  George  softly  That  was  enough  for 
my  father,  so  on  he  went. 

"You  are  already  doing  part  of  what  I  wish.  I  was 
delighted  with  the  two  passages  I  heard  on  Sunday, 
from  what  you  call  the  Sunchild's  Sayings.  I  never 
said  a  word  of  either  passage;  I  wish  I  had;  I  wish 
I  could  say  anything  half  so  good.  And  I  have  read 
a  pamphlet  by  President  Gurgoyle,  which  I  liked  ex- 
tremely ;  but  I  never  said  what  he  says  I  did.  Again,  I 
wish  I  had.  Keep  to  this  sort  of  thing,  and  I  will  be 
as  good  a  Sunchildist  as  any  of  you.  But  you  must 
bribe  some  thief  to  steal  that  relic,  and  break  it  up  to 
mend  the  roads  with ;  and — for  I  believe  that  here  as 
elsewhere  fires  sometimes  get  lighted  through  the 
carelessness  of  a  workman — set  the  most  careless 
workman  you  can  find  to  do  a  plumbing  job  near  that 
picture."' 

Hanky  looked  black  at  this,  and  George  trod  lightly 
on  my  father's  toe,  but  he  told  me  that  my  father's 
face  was  innocence  itself. 

"These  are  hard  sayings,"  said  Dr.  Downie. 

"I  know  they  are,"  replied  my  father,  "and  I  do  not 
like  saying  them,  but  there  Is  no  royal  road  to  unlearn- 
ing, and  you  have  much  to  unlearn.  Still,  you  Musical 
Bank  people  bear  witness  to  the  fact  that  beyond  the 
kingdoms  of  this  world  there  is  another,  within  which 
the  writs  of  this  world's  kingdoms  do  not  run.  This 
is  the  great  service  which  our  church  does  for  us  in 
England,  and  hence  many  of  us  uphold  it,  though  we 
have  no  sympathy  with  the  party  now  dominant  within 


What  About  Sunchildism?      253 

it.  'Better,'  we  think,  'a  corrupt  church  than  none  at 
all.'  Moreover,  those  who  in  my  country  would  step 
into  the  church's  shoes  are  as  corrupt  as  the  church, 
and  more  exacting.  They  are  also  more  dangerous, 
for  the  masses  distrust  the  church,  and  are  on  their 
guard  against  aggression,  whereas  they  do  not  suspect 
the  doctrinaires  and  faddists,  who,  if  they  could, 
would  interfere  in  every  concern  of  our  lives. 

"Let  me  return  to  yourselves.  You  Musical  Bank 
Managers  are  very  much  such  a  body  of  men  as  your 
country  needs — but  when  I  was  here  before  you  had 
no  figurehead ;  I  have  unwittingly  supplied  you  with 
one,  and  it  is  perhaps  because  you  saw  this,  that  you 
good  people  of  Bridgeford  took  up  with  me.  Sun- 
childism is  still  young  and  pla.stic;  if  you  will  let  the 
cock-and-bull  stories  about  me  tacitly  drop,  and  invent 
no  new  ones,  beyond  saying  what  a  delightful  person 
I  was,  I  really  cannot  see  why  I  should  not  do  for  you 
as  well  as  any  one  else. 

"There.  What  I  have  said  is  nine-tenths  of  it 
rotten  and  wrong,  but  it  is  the  most  practicable  rotten 
and  wrong  that  I  can  suggest,  seeing  into  what  a 
rotten  and  wn^ng  state  of  things  you  have  drifted. 
And  now,  Mr.  Mayor,  do  you  not  think  we  may  join 
the  Mayoress  and  Mrs.  Humdrum?'' 

"As  you  i)lcase,  Mr.  lliggs,"  answered  the  Mayor. 

"Then  let  us  go,  fr)r  I  have  said  too  much  already, 
and  vour  son  George  tells  me  that  we  must  be  starting 
shortly." 

As  they  were  leaving  the  room  Panky  sidled  up  to 
my  father  and  said,  "There  is  a  point,  Mr.  Iliggs, 
which  you  can  settle  for  mc,  though  I  feel  pretty  ccr- 


254  Erewhon  Revisited 

tain  how  you  will  settle  it.  I  think  that  a  corruption 
has  crept  into  the  text  of  the  very  beautiful " 

7\t  this  moment,  as  my  father,  who  saw  what  was 
coming,  was  wondering  what  in  the  world  he  could 
say,  George  came  up  to  him  and  said,  "Mr.  Higgs,  my 
mother  wishes  me  to  take  you  down  into  the  store- 
room, to  make  sure  that  she  has  put  everything  for 
you  as  you  would  like  it."  On  this  my  father  said  he 
would  return  directly  and  answer  what  he  knew  would 
be  Panky's  question. 

When  Yram  had  shewn  what  she  had  prepared — all 
of  it,  of  course,  faultless — she  said,  ''And  now,  Mr. 
Higgs,  about  our  leave-taking.  Of  course  we  shall 
both  of  us  feel  much.  I  shall;  I  know  you  will; 
George  will  have  a  few  more  hours  with  you  than  the 
rest  of  us,  but  his  time  to  say  good-bye  will  come,  and 
it  will  be  painful  to  both  of  you.  I  am  glad  you  came 
— I  am  glad  you  have  seen  George,  and  George  you, 
and  that  you  took  to  one  another.  I  am  glad  my  hus- 
band has  seen  you;  he  has  spoken  to  me  about  you 
very  warmly,  for  he  has  taken  to  you  much  as  George 
did.  I  am  very,  very  glad  to  have  seen  you  myself, 
and  to  have  learned  what  became  of  you — and  of  your 
wife.  I  know  you  wish  well  to  all  of  us;  be  sure  that 
we  all  of  us  wish  most  heartily  well  to  you  and  yours. 
I  sent  for  you  and  George,  because  I  could  not  say  all 
this  unless  we  were  alone ;  it  is  all  I  can  do,"  she  said, 
with  a  smile,  "to  say  it  now." 

Indeed  it  was,  for  the  tears  were  in  her  eyes  all  the 
time,  as  they  were  also  in  my  father's. 

"Let  this,"  continued  Yram,  "be  our  leave-taking — 
for  we  must  have  nothing  like  a  scene  upstairs.  Just 
shake  hands  with  us  all,  say  the  usual  conventional 


What  About  Sunchildism?      255 

things,  and  make  it  as  short  as  you  can ;  but  I  could 
not  bear  to  send  you  away  without  a  few  warmer 
words  than  I  could  have  said  when  others  were  in  the 
room.'' 

"May  heaven  bless  you  and  yours,"  said  my  father, 
"for  ever  and  ever." 

"That  will  do,"  said  George  gently.  "Now,  both  of 
you  shake  hands,  and  come  upstairs  with  me." 


When  all  three  of  them  had  got  calm,  for  George 
had  l^een  moved  almost  as  much  as  his  father  and 
mother,  they  went  upstairs,  and  Panky  came  for  his 
answer.  "You  are  very  possibly  right,"  said  my 
father — "the  version  you  hold  to  be  corrupt  is  the  one 
in  common  use  amongst  ourselves,  but  it  is  only  a 
translation,  and  very  possibly  only  a  translation  of  a 
translation,  so  that  it  may  perhaps  have  been  corrupted 
before  it  reached  us." 

"That,"  said  Panky,  "will  explain  everything,"  and 
he  went  contentedly  away. 

My  father  talked  a  little  aside  with  Mrs.  Humdrum 
about  her  granfl-daughlcr  and  George,  for  Yrani  had 
told  him  that  she  knew  all  al)out  the  attachment,  and 
then  George,  who  saw  that  my  father  found  the 
greatest  difficulty  in  maintaining  an  outward  calm, 
said,  "Mr.  Iliggs,  the  streets  arc  empty;  we  had  better 
fio." 

My  father  did  as  "N  ram  had  tf)ld  him ;  shook  hands 
with  every  one,  said  all  tlial  was  usual  and  projKT  as 
briefly  as  he  could,  and  followed  George  out  of  the 
room.  The  Mayor  saw  them  to  the  door,  and  saved 
my  father  from  embarrassment  by  .saying,  "Mr. 
Higgs,  you  and  I  understand  one  another  too  well  to 


256  Erewhon  Revisited 

make  it  necessary  for  us  to  say  so.  Good-bye  to  you, 
and  may  no  ill  befall  you  ere  you  get  home." 

My  father  grasped  his  hand  in  both  his  own. 
"Again,"  he  said,  "I  can  say  no  more  than  that  I  thank 
you  from  the  bottom  of  my  heart." 

As  he  spoke  he  bowed  his  head,  and  went  out  with 
George  into  the  night. 


CHAPTER    XXV 

GEORGE    ESCORTS    MY    FATHER    TO    THE    STATUES; 
THE  TWO  THEN    PART 

The  streets  were  quite  deserted  as  George  had  said 
tliey  would  l^c,  and  very  dark,  save  for  an  occasional 
oil  lamp. 

"As  soon  as  we  can  get  within  the  preser\'es,"  said 
George,  "we  had  better  wait  till  morning.  I  have  a 
rug  for  myself  as  well  as  for  you." 

"I  saw  you  had  two,"  answered  my  father;  "you 
must  let  me  carry  them  IxDth ;  the  provisions  are  much 
the  heavier  load." 

George  fought  as  hard  as  a  dog  would  do,  till  my 
father  said  that  they  must  not  (juarrcl  during  the  very 
short  time  they  had  to  be  together.  On  this  George 
gave  up  one  rug  meekly  enough,  and  my  father  yielded 
about  the  basket  and  the  other  rug. 

It  was  alx)ut  half-past  eleven  when  they  started, 
and  it  was  after  one  K-forc  they  reached  the  preserves. 
For  the  first  mile  from  the  town  they  were  not  much 
hindered  by  the  darkness,  and  my  father  told  George 
about  his  book  and  many  anf)ther  matter;  he  also  prom- 
ised George  to  say  nothing  about  this  second  visit. 
Then  the  road  Ix^camc  more  rough,  and  when  it  dwin- 
dled away  to  l)C  a  mere  lane — Ixroming  presently  only 
a  foot  track — they  had  to  mind  their  footsteps,  and  got 
on  !)ut  slowly.    The  night  was  starlit,  and  warm,  con- 

257 


258  Erewhon  Revisited 

sidering  that  they  were  more  than  three  thousand  feet 
above  the  sea,  but  it  was  very  dark,  so  that  my  fathe" 
was  well  enough  pleased  when  George  showed  him  the 
w'hite  stones  that  marked  the  boundary,  and  said  they 
had  better  soon  make  themselves  as  comfortable  as 
they  could  till  morning. 

"We  can  stay  here,"  he  said,  "till  half-past  three, 
there  will  be  a  little  daylight  then;  we  will  rest  half  an 
hour  for  breakfast  at  about  five,  and  by  noon  we  shall 
be  at  the  statues,  where  we  will  dine." 

This  being  settled,  George  rolled  himself  up  in  his 
rug,  and  in  a  few  minutes  went  comfortably  off  to 
sleep.  Not  so  my  poor  father.  He  wound  up  his 
watch,  wrapped  his  rug  round  him,  and  lay  down; 
but  he  could  get  no  sleep.  After  such  a  day,  and  such 
an  evening,  how  could  any  one  have  slept? 

About  three  the  first  signs  of  dawn  began  to  show, 
and  half  an  hour  later  my  father  could  see  the  sleeping 
face  of  his  son — v^^hom  it  went  to  his  heart  to  wake. 
Nevertheless  he  woke  him,  ai?d  in  a  few  minutes  the 
two  were  on  their  way — George  as  fresh  as  a  lark — 
my  poor  father  intent  on  nothing  so  much  as  on 
hiding  from  George  how  ill  and  unsound  in  body  and 
mind  he  was  feeling. 

They  walked  on,  saying  but  little,  till  at  five  by  my 
father's  watch  George  proposed  a  halt  for  breakfast. 
The  spot  he  chose  was  a  grassy  oasis  among  the  trees, 
carpeted  with  subalpine  flowers,  now  in  their  fullest 
beauty,  and  close  to  a  small  stream  that  here  came 
down  from  a  side  valley.  The  freshness  of  the  morn- 
ing air,  the  extreme  beauty  of  the  place,  the  lovely 
birds  that  flitted  from  tree  to  tree,  the  exquisite 
shapes    and    colours    of    the    flowers,    still    dew-be- 


Back  to  the  Statues  259 

spangled,  and  above  all,  the  tenderness  with  which 
George  treated  him,  soothed  my  father,  and  when  he 
and  George  had  lit  a  fire  and  made  some  hot  corn- 
coffee — with  a  view  to  which  Yram  had  put  up  a  bottle 
of  milk — ^he  felt  so  much  restored  as  to  look  forward 
to  the  rest  of  his  journey  without  alarm.  Moreover 
he  had  nothing  to  carry,  for  George  had  left  his  own 
rug  at  the  place  where  they  had  slept,  knowing  that  he 
should  find  it  on  his  return ;  he  had  therefore  insisted 
on  carrying  my  father's.  My  father  fought  as  long 
as  he  could,  but  he  had  to  give  in. 

"Now  tell  me,"  said  George,  glad  to  change  the 
subject,  "what  will  those  three  men  do  about  what  you 
said  to  them  last  night?  Will  they  pay  any  attention 
to  it?" 

^ly  father  laughed.  "My  dear  George,  what  a 
question — I  do  not  know  them  well  enough." 

"Oh  yes,  you  do.  At  any  rate  say  what  you  think 
most  likely." 

"Very  well.  I  think  Dr.  Downie  will  do  much  as  I 
said.  He  will  not  throw  the  whole  thing  over,  through 
fear  of  schism,  loyalty  to  a  party  from  which  he  can- 
not well  detach  himself,  and  because  he  does  not  think 
that  the  public  is  quite  tired  enough  of  its  toy.  He  will 
neither  preach  nor  write  against  it,  but  he  will  live 
lukewarmly  against  it,  and  this  is  what  the  Hankys 
hate.  They  can  stand  either  hot  or  cold,  but  they  are 
afraid  of  lukewarm.  In  England  Dr.  Downie  would 
be  a  Broad  Churchman." 

"Do  you  think  we  shall  ever  get  rid  of  Siuichildism 
altogether  ?" 

"H  they  stick  to  the  cock-and-bull  stories  they  are 
telling  now,  and  rub  them  in,  as  Hanky  did  on  Sun- 


26o  Erewhon  Revisited 

day,  it  may  go,  and  go  soon.  It  has  taken  root  too 
quickly  and  easily;  and  its  top  is  too  heavy  for  its 
roots ;  still  there  are  so  many  chances  in  its  favour  tliat 
it  may  last  a  long  time." 

"And  how  about  Hanky?" 

"He  will  brazen  it  out,  relic,  chariot,  and  all:  and 
he  will  welcome  more  relics  and  more  cock-and-bull 
stories ;  his  single  eye  will  be  upon  his  own  aggrandise- 
ment and  that  of  his  order.  Plausible,  unscrupulous, 
heartless  scoundrel  that  he  is,  he  will  play  for  the 
queen  and  the  women  of  the  court,  as  Dr.  Downie  will 
play  for  the  king  and  the  men.  He  and  his  party  will 
sleep  neither  night  nor  day,  but  they  will  have  one 
redeeming  feature — whoever  they  may  deceive,  they 
will  not  deceive  themselves.  They  believe  every  one 
else  to  be  as  bad  as  they  are,  and  see  no  reason  why 
they  should  not  push  their  own  wares  in  the  way  of 
business.  Hanky  is  everything  that  we  in  England 
rightly  or  wrongly  believe  a  typical  Jesuit  to  be." 

"And  Panky — what  about  him?" 

"Panky  must  persuade  himself  of  his  own  lies,  be- 
fore he  is  quite  comfortable  about  telling  them  to  other 
people.  Hanky  keeps  Hanky  well  out  of  it;  Panky 
must  have  a  base  of  operations  in  Panky.  Hanky  will 
lead  him  by  the  nose,  bit  by  bit,  for  his  is  the  master 
spirit.  In  England  Panky  would  be  what  we  call  an 
extreme  ritualist." 

"Then  the  real  battle  will  be  between  Hanky  and 
Dr.  Downie.    Which  will  carry  the  day?" 

"For  the  present,  probably  Hanky.  He  is  the  more 
vigilant  and  energetic;  in  this  case  Sunchildism  will 
have  to  go,  and  I  am  afraid  your  whole  Musical  Bank 
system  will  be  swept  away  along  with  it." 


Back  to  the  Statues  261 

"And  why  not?" 

"Because,  my  dear  boy,  though  false  in  the  letter,  if 
good  counsels  prevail,  it  may  be  made  true  enough  in 
spirit.  If  it  were  to  go,  its  place  would  be  soon  filled 
by  men  who  would  be  as  false  in  letter  as  the  others 
were,  and  nmch  more  false  in  spirit.  You  want  a 
heart  to  check  your  head,  and  a  head  to  clieck  your 
heart.  As  in  our  English  body  politic  there  are  two 
parties  opposed  to  one  another,  neither  of  which  can 
thrive  if  the  other  is  unduly  weakened,  so  in  our  spir- 
itual and  intellectual  world  two  parties  more  or  less 
antagonistic  are  ec^ually  necessary.  Those  who  are  at 
the  head  of  science  provide  us  with  the  one  party; 
those  whom  we  call  our  churchmen  are  the  other.  Both 
are  corrupt,  but  we  can  spare  neither,  for  each  checks 
as  far  as  it  can  the  corruptions  of  the  other." 

"Then  you  would  have  us  uphold  Sunchildism, 
knowing  it  to  l>e  untrue?" 

"Do  what  you  will,  you  will  not  get  perfect  truth. 
And  if  you  can  follow  the  lead  which  I  believe  Dr. 
Downic  will  give  you,  that  is  to  say,  get  rid  of  cock- 
and-bull  stories,  idealise  my  unworthy  self,  and,  as  I 
said  last  night,  make  me  a  peg  on  which  to  hang  your 
own  best  thoughts — Sunchildism  will  be  as  near  truth 
as  anything  you  are  likely  to  get.  But  if  llankyism 
triumphs,  come  what  may  you  must  get  rid  of  it,  for 
he  and  his  school  will  tamper  with  the  one  sure  and 
everlasting  word  of  God  revealed  to  us  by  human  ex- 
perience, lie  who  plays  fast  and  loose  with  this  is 
as  one  who  would  forge  (lod's  signature  to  a  checjue 
drawn  on  God's  own  bank." 

"Arc  we  to  foster  the  belief  that  it  was  indeed 
the  Sunchild  who  interrujjtcd  Hanky's  sermon?" 


262         .    Erewhon  Revisited 

"Yes,  where  you  safely  can,  but  not  otherwise;  and 
commit  the  facts  to  writing  as  soon  as  you  can  find 
time.  Do  nothing  to  jeopardise  your  own  safety; 
you  can  do  more  by  perfunctory  acquiescence  than  by 
open  dissent.  And  tell  those  friends  whom  you  can 
trust,  what  these  my  parting  words  to  you  have  been. 
But  above  all  I  charge  3'ou  solemnly,  do  nothing  to 
jeopardise  your  own  safety;  you  cannot  play  into 
Hanky's  hands  more  certainly  than  by  risking  this. 
Think  how  he  and  Panky  would  rejoice,  and  how  Dr. 
Downie  would  grieve.  Be  wise  and  wary;  bide  your 
time;  do  what  you  prudently  can,  and  you  will  find 
you  can  do  much;  try  to  do  more,  and  you  will  do 
nothing.  Be  guided  by  the  Mayor,  by  your  mother — 
and  by  that  dear  old  lady  whose  grandson  you 
will " 

"Then  they  have  told  you,"  interrupted  the  youth, 
blushing  scarlet. 

"My  dearest  boy,  of  course  they  have,  and  I  have 
seen  her,  and  am  head  over  ears  in  love  with  her 
myself." 

He  was  all  smiles  and  blushes,  and  vowed  for  a  few 
minutes  that  it  was  a  shame  of  them  to  tell  me,  but 
presently  he  said — 

"Then  you  like  her?" 

"Rather!"  said  my  father  vehemently,  and  shaking 
George  by  the  hand.  But  he  said  nothing  about  the 
nuggets  and  the  sovereigns,  knowing  that  Yram  did 
not  wish  him  to  do  so.  Neither  did  George  say  any- 
thing about  his  determination  to  start  for  the  capital 
in  the  morning,  and  make  a  clean  breast  of  everything 
to  the  King.  So  soon  does  it  become  necessary  even 
for  those   who   are  most  cordially  attached  to  hide 


Back  to  the  Statues  263 

things  from  one  another.  Aly  father,  however,  was 
made  comfortable  by  receiving  a  promise  from  the 
youth  that  he  would  take  no  step  of  which  the  persons 
he  had  named  would  disapprove. 

When  once  Mrs,  Humdrum's  grand-daughter  had 
been  introduced  there  was  no  more  talking  about 
Hanky  and  Panky;  for  George  began  to  bubble  over 
with  the  subject  that  was  nearest  his  heart,  and  how 
much  he  feared  that  it  would  be  some  time  yet  before 
he  could  be  married.  Many  a  story  did  he  tell  of  his 
early  attachment  and  of  its  course  for  the  last  ten 
years,  but  my  space  will  not  allow  me  to  inHict  one  of 
them  on  the  reader.  My  father  saw  that  the  more  he 
listened  and  sympathised  and  encouraged,  the  fonder 
George  became  of  him,  and  this  was  all  he  cared  about. 

Thus  did  they  converse  hour  after  hour.  They 
passed  the  Blue  Pool,  without  seeing  it  or  even  talking 
a]x)ut  it  for  more  than  a  minute.  George  kept  an  eye 
on  the  quails  and  declared  them  fairly  plentiful  and 
strong  on  the  wing,  but  nothing  now  could  keep  him 
from  pouring  out  his  whole  heart  about  Mrs.  Hum- 
drum's grand-daughter,  until  towards  noon  they 
caught  sight  of  the  statues,  and  a  halt  was  made  which 
gave  my  father  the  first  pang  he  had  felt  that 
morning,  for  he  knew  that  the  statues  would  be  the 
beginning  of  the  end. 

There  was  no  need  to  light  a  fire,  for  Yram  had 
packed  for  them  twcj  bottles  of  a  delicious  white  wine, 
something  like  White  Capri,  which  went  admirably 
with  the  many  more  solid  good  things  that  .she  had  pro- 
vided for  them.  As  soon  as  they  had  finished  a  iiearty 
meal  my  father  said  to  George,  "You  must  have  my 
watch  for  a  keepsake;  I  sec  you  are  not  wearing  my 


264  Erewhon  Revisited 

boots.  I  fear  you  did  not  find  them  comfortable,  but 
I  am  glad  you  have  not  got  them  on,  for  I  have  set 
my  heart  on  keeping  yours." 

"Let  us  settle  about  the  boots  first.  I  rather  fancied 
that  that  w^as  why  you  put  me  off  when  I  wanted  to 
get  my  own  back  again;  and  then  I  thought  I  should 
like  yours  for  a  keepsake,  so  I  put  on  another  pair  last 
night,  and  they  are  nothing  like  so  comfortable  as 
yours  were." 

"Now  I  wonder,"  said  my  father  to  me,  "whether 
this  was  true,  or  whether  it  was  only  that  dear  fellow's 
pretty  invention ;  but  true  or  false  I  was  as  delighted 
as  he  meant  me  to  be." 

I  asked  George  about  this  when  I  saw  him,  and  he 
confessed  with  an  ingenuous  blush  that  my  father's 
boots  had  hurt  him,  and  that  he  had  never  thought  of 
making  a  keepsake  of  them,  till  my  father's  words 
stimulated  his  invention. 

As  for  the  watch,  which  was  only  a  silver  one,  but 
of  the  best  make,  George  protested  for  a  time,  but 
when  he  had  yielded,  my  father  could  see  that  he  was 
overjoyed  at  getting  it;  for  watches,  though  now  per- 
mitted, were  expensive  and  not  in  common  use. 

Having  thus  bribed  him,  my  father  broached  the 
possibility  of  his  meeting  him  at  the  statues  on  that 
day  twelvemonth,  but  of  course  saying  nothing  about 
why  he  was  so  anxious  that  he  should  come. 

"I  will  come,"  said  my  father,  "not  a  yard  farther 
than  the  statues,  and  if  I  cannot  come  I  will  send  your 
brother.  And  I  will  come  at  noon ;  but  it  is  possible 
that  the  river  down  below  may  be  in  fresh,  and  I  may 
not  be  able  to  hit  off  the  day,  though  I  will  move 
heaven  and  earth  to  do  so.   Therefore  if  I  do  not  meet 


Back  to  the  Statues  265 

you  on  the  day  appointed,  do  your  best  to  come  also 
at  noon  on  the  following  day.  I  know  how  incon- 
venient this  will  be  for  you,  and  will  come  true  to  the 
day  if  it  is  possible." 

To  my  father's  surprise,  George  did  not  raise  so 
many  difficulties  as  he  had  expected.  He  said  it  might 
be  done,  if  neither  he  nor  my  father  were  to  go  beyond 
the  statues.  "And  difficult  as  it  will  be  for  you,"  said 
George,  "you  had  better  come  a  second  day  if  neces- 
sary, as  I  will,  for  who  can  tell  what  might  happen  to 
make  the  first  day  impossible?" 

"Then,"  said  my  father,  "we  shall  be  spared  that 
horrible  feeling  that  we  are  parting  without  hope  of 
seeing  each  other  again.  I  find  it  hard  enough  to  say 
good-bye  even  now,  but  I  do  not  know  how  I  could 
have  faced  it  if  you  had  not  agreed  to  our  meeting 
again." 

"The  day  fi.xcd  upon  will  be  our  XXI.  i.  3,  and  the 
hour  noon  as  near  as  may  Ik.'?" 

"So.  Let  me  write  it  down:  'XXI.  i.  3,  i.e.  our  De- 
cemt^r  9,  1891,  I  am  to  meet  (Jeorge  at  the  statues,  at 
twelve  o'clock,  and  if  he  (If)cs  not  come,  I  am  to  be 
there  again  on  the  following  day.'  " 

In  like  manner,  Cicorgc  wrote  down  whnt  he  was 
to  do:  "XXI.  i.  3,  or  failing  this  XXI.  i.  4.  .Statues. 
Noon." 

"This,"  he  said,  "is  a  solemn  covenant,  is  it  not?" 

"Yes,"  said  my  father,  "and  may  all  good  omens 
attend  it !" 

The  words  were  not  out  of  his  mouth  k'forc  a 
mountain  bird,  something  like  our  jackdaw,  but  smaller 
and  of  a  bluer  black,  flew  out  of  the  hollow  mouth  of 
one  of  the  statues,  and  with  a  hearty  chuckle  perched 


266  Erewhon  Revisited 

on  the  ground  at  his  feet,  attracted  doubtless  by  the 
scraps  of  food  that  were  lying  about.  With  the  fear- 
lessness of  birds  in  that  country,  it  looked  up  at  him 
and  George,  gave  another  hearty  chuckle,  and  flew 
back  to  its  statue  with  the  largest  fragment  it  could 
find. 

They  settled  that  this  was  an  omen  so  propitious 
that  they  could  part  in  good  hope.  "Let  us  finish  the 
wine,"  said  my  father,  "and  then,  do  what  must  be 
done." 

They  finished  the  wine  to  each  other's  good  health; 
George  drank  also  to  mine,  and  said  he  hoped  my 
father  would  bring  me  with  him,  while  my  father 
drank  to  Yram,  the  Mayor,  their  children,  Mrs.  Hum- 
drum, and  above  all  to  Mrs.  Humdrum's  grand- 
daughter. They  then  re-packed  all  that  could  be  taken 
away;  my  father  rolled  his  rug  to  his  liking,  slung  it 
over  his  shoulder,  gripped  George's  hand,  and  said, 
"My  dearest  boy,  when  we  have  each  turned  our  backs 
upon  one  another,  let  us  walk  our  several  ways  as  fast 
as  we  can,  and  try  not  to  look  behind  us." 

So  saying  he  loosed  his  grip  of  George's  hand, 
bared  his  head,  lowered  it,  and  turned  away. 

George  burst  into  tears,  and  followed  him  after  he 
had  gone  two  paces;  he  threw  his  arms  round  him, 
hugged  him,  kissed  him  on  his  lips,  cheeks,  and 
forehead,  and  then  turning  round,  strode  full  speed 
towards  Sunch'ston.  My  father  never  took  his  eyes 
off  him  till  he  was  out  of  sight,  but  the  boy  did  not 
look  round.  When  he  could  see  him  no  more,  my 
father  with  faltering  gait,  and  feeling  as  though  a 
prop  had  suddenly  been  taken  from  under  him,  began 
to  follow  the  stream  down  towards  his  old  camp. 


CHAPTER    XXVI 

MY    FATHER    REACHES     HOME,     AND    DIES     NOT    LONG 
AFTERWARDS 

My  father  could  walk  but  slowly,  for  George's  boots 
had  blistered  his  feet,  and  it  seemed  to  him  that  the 
river-bed,  of  which  he  caught  glimpses  now  and  again, 
never  got  any  nearer;  but  all  things  come  to  an  end, 
and  by  seven  o'clock  on  the  night  of  Tuesday,  he  was 
on  the  spot  which  he  had  left  on  the  preceding  Friday 
morning.  Three  entire  days  had  intervened,  but  he 
felt  that  something,  he  knew  not  what,  had  seized  him, 
and  that  whereas  before  these  three  days  life  had  been 
one  thing,  what  little  might  follow  them,  would  be 
another — and  a  very  different  one. 

He  soon  caught  sight  of  his  horse  which  had 
strayed  a  mile  lower  down  the  river-bed,  and  in  spite 
of  his  hobbles  had  crossed  one  ugly  stream  that  my 
father  dared  not  ford  on  foot.  Tired  though  he  was, 
he  went  after  him,  bridie  in  hand,  and  when  the 
friendly  creature  saw  him,  it  rccrossed  the  stream,  and 
came  to  him  of  its  own  accord — either  tired  of  his  own 
company,  or  tempted  by  some  bread  my  father  held 
out  towards  him.  My  father  took  off  the  hobbles,  and 
rode  him  bare-backed  to  the  camping  ground,  where 
he  rewarded  him  with  more  bread  and  biscuit,  ajid 
then  hobbled  him  again  for  the  night. 

"It  was  here,"  he  said  to  me  on  one  of  the  first  days 


268  Erewhon  Revisited 

after  his  return,  "that  I  first  knew  myself  to  be  a 
broken  man.  As  for  meeting  George  again,  I  felt 
sure  that  it  would  be  all  I  could  do  to  meet  his  brother; 
and  though  George  was  always  in  my  thoughts,  it  was 
for  you  and  not  him  that  I  was  now  yearning.  When 
I  gave  George  my  watch,  how  glad  I  was  that  I  had 
left  my  gold  one  at  home,  for  that  is  yours,  and  I 
could  not  have  brought  myself  to  give  it  him." 

"Never  mind  that,  my  dear  father,"  said  I,  "but  tell 
me  how  you  got  down  the  river,  and  thence  home 
again." 

"My  very  dear  boy,"  he  said,  "I  can  hardly  re- 
member, and  I  had  no  energy  to  make  any  more  notes. 
I  remember  putting  a  scrap  of  paper  into  the  box  of 
sovereigns,  merely  sending  George  my  love  along  with 
the  money;  I  remember  also  dropping  the  box  into  a 
hole  in  a  tree,  which  I  blazed,  and  towards  which  I 
drew  a  line  of  wood-ashes.  I  seem  to  see  a  poor  un- 
hinged creature  gazing  moodily  for  hours  into  a  fire 
which  he  heaps  up  now  and  again  with  wood.  There 
is  not  a  breath  of  air;  Nature  sleeps  so  calmly  that 
she  dares  not  even  breathe  for  fear  of  waking;  the 
very  river  has  hushed  his  flow.  Without,  the  starlit 
calm  of  a  summer's  night  in  a  great  wilderness; 
within,  a  hurricane  of  wild  and  incoherent  thoughts 
battling  with  one  another  in  their  fury  to  fall  upon 
him  and  rend  him — and  on  the  other  side  the  great  wall 
of  mountain,  thousands  of  children  praying  at  their 
mother's  knee  to  this  poor  dazed  thing.  I  suppose  this 
half  delirious  wretch  must  have  been  myself.  But  I 
must  have  been  more  ill  when  I  left  England  than  I 
thought  I  was,  or  Erewhon  would  not  have  broken  me 
down  as  it  did." 


The  Homeward  Journey        269 

No  doubt  he  was  right.  Indeed  it  was  because  Mr. 
Cathie  and  his  doctor  saw  that  he  was  out  of  health 
and  in  urgent  need  of  change,  that  they  left  off  op- 
posing his  wish  to  travel.  There  is  no  use,  however, 
in  talking  about  this  now. 

I  never  g:ot  from  him  how  he  managed  to  reach  the 
shepherd's  hut,  but  I  learned  some  little  from  the 
shepherd,  when  I  stayed  with  him  both  on  going  to- 
wards Erewhon  and  on  returning. 

"He  did  not  seem  to  have  drink  in  him,"  said  the 
shepherd,  "when  he  first  came  here ;  but  he  must  have 
been  pretty  full  of  it,  or  he  must  have  had  some  bottles 
in  his  saddle-ijags :  for  he  was  awful  when  he  came 
back.  He  had  got  them  worse  than  any  man  I  ever 
saw,  only  that  he  was  not  awkward.  He  said  there 
was  a  bird  flying  out  of  a  giant's  mouth  and  laughing 
at  him,  and  he  kept  muttering  about  a  blue  pool,  and 
hanky-panky  of  all  sorts,  and  he  said  he  knew  it  was 
all  hanky-panky,  at  least  I  thought  he  said  so,  but  it 
was  no  use  trying  to  follow  him,  for  it  was  all  nothing 
but  horrors.  He  said  T  was  to  stop  the  people  from 
trying  to  worship  him.  Then  he  said  the  sky  opened 
and  he  could  see  the  angels  going  alx)ut  and  singing 
Tlallclujah.'  " 

"How  long  did  he  stay  with  you?"  I  asked. 

"About  ten  days,  but  the  last  three  he  was  himself 
again,  only  too  weak  to  move.  He  thought  he  was 
cured  except  for  weakness." 

"Do  you  know  how  he  had  iK-cn  spending  the  last 
two  days  or  so  before  he  got  down  to  your  hut?" 

I  said  two  days,  JK-cause  this  was  the  time  I  sup- 
posed he  would  take  to  descend  the  river. 

"I  should  say  drinking  all  the  time.     He  said  he  had 


270  Erewhon  Revisited 

fallen  off  his  horse  two  or  three  times,  till  he  took  to 
leading  him.  If  he  had  had  any  other  horse  than  old 
Doctor  he  would  have  been  a  dead  man.  Bless  you,  I 
have  known  that  horse  ever  since  he  was  foaled,  and 
I  never  saw  one  like  him  for  sense.  He  would  pick 
fords  better  than  that  gentleman  could,  I  know,  and 
if  the  gentleman  fell  off  him  he  would  just  stay  stock 
still.  He  was  badly  bruised,  poor  man,  when  he  got 
here.  I  saw  him  through  the  gorge  when  he  left  me, 
and  he  gave  me  a  sovereign;  he  said  he  had  only  one 
other  left  to  take  him  down  to  the  port,  or  he  would 
have  made  it  more." 

"He  was  my  father,"  said  I,  "and  he  is  dead,  but 
before  he  died  he  told  me  to  give  you  five  pounds 
which  I  have  brought  you.  I  think  you  are  wrong  in 
saying  that  he  had  been  drinking." 

"That  is  what  they  all  say;  but  I  take  it  very  kind 
of  him  to  have  thought  of  me." 

My  father's  illness  for  the  first  three  weeks  after 
his  return  played  with  him  as  a  cat  plays  with  a 
mouse ;  now  and  again  it  would  let  him  have  a  day  or 
two's  run,  during  which  he  was  so  cheerful  and  un- 
clouded that  his  doctor  was  quite  hopeful  about  him. 
At  various  times  on  these  occasions  I  got  from  him 
that  when  he  left  the  shepherd's  hut,  he  thought  his 
illness  had  run  itself  out,  and  that  he  should  now  reach 
the  port  from  which  he  was  to  sail  for  S.  Francisco 
without  misadventure.  This  he  did,  and  he  was  able 
to  do  all  he  had  to  do  at  the  port,  though  frequently 
attacked  with  passing  fits  of  giddiness.  I  need  not 
dwell  upon  his  voyage  to  S.  Francisco,  and  thence 
home ;  it  is  enough  to  say  that  he  was  able  to  travel  by 


The  Homeward  Journey        271 

himself  in  spite  of  gradually,  but  continually,  increas- 
ing failure. 

"When,"  he  said,  "I  reached  tlie  port,  I  telegraphed, 
as  you  know,  for  more  money.  How  puzzled  you 
must  have  been.  I  sold  my  horse  to  the  man  from 
whom  I  bought  it,  at  a  loss  of  only  about  f  lo,  and  I 
left  with  him  my  saddle,  saddle-bags,  small  hatchet, 
my  hobbles,  and  in  fact  everything  that  I  had  taken 
with  me,  except  what  they  had  impounded  in  Ere- 
whon.  Yram's  rug  I  dropped  into  the  river  when  I 
knew  that  I  should  no  longer  need  it — as  also  her  sub- 
stitutes for  my  billy  and  pannikin ;  and  I  burned  her 
basket.  The  shepherd  would  have  asked  me  questions. 
You  will  find  an  order  to  deliver  everything  up  to 
bearer.  You  need  therefore  take  nothing  from  Eng- 
land." 

At  another  time  he  said,  "When  you  go,  for  it  is 
plain  I  cannot,  and  go  one  or  other  of  us  must,  try 
and  get  the  horse  I  had :  he  will  \)c  nine  years  old,  and 
he  knows  all  about  the  rivers:  if  you  leave  everything 
to  him.  you  may  shut  your  eyes,  but  do  not  interfere 
with  him.  Give  the  shei)hcrd  what  I  said  and  he  will 
attend  to  you,  but  go  a  day  or  two  too  soon,  for  the 
margin  of  one  day  was  not  enough  to  allow  in  case  of 
a  fresh  in  the  river;  if  the  water  is  di.scoloured  you 
must  not  cro.ss  it — not  even  with  Doctor.  I  could  not 
ask  George  to  come  up  three  days  running  from 
Sunch'ston  to  the  statues  and  back." 

Here  he  became  exhausted.  Almost  the  last  co- 
herent string  of  sentences  I  got  from  him  was  as 
follows : — 

"About  George's  money  if  I  send  him  £jcx)0  you 
will  still  have  nearly  £150.000  Icfl.  and   Mr.  Cathie 


272  Erewhon  Revisited 

will  not  let  you  try  to  make  it  more.  I  know  you 
would  give  him  four  or  five  thousand,  but  tht 
Mayor  and  I  talked  it  over,  and  settled  that  £2000  in 
gold  would  make  him  a  rich  man.  Consult  our  good 
friend  Alfred"  (meaning,  of  course,  Mr.  Cathie) 
"about  the  best  way  of  taking  the  money.  I  am  afraid 
there  is  nothing  for  it  but  gold,  and  this  will  be  a 
great  weight  for  you  to  carry — about,  I  believe,  36  lbs. 
Can  you  do  this?  I  really  think  that  if  you  lead  your 
horse  you  .  .  .  no — there  will  be  the  getting  him  down 
again " 

"Don't  worry  about  it,  my  dear  father,"  said  I,  "I 
can  do  it  easily  if  I  stow  the  load  rightly,  and  I  will 
see  to  this.  I  shall  have  nothing  else  to  carry,  for  I 
shall  camp  down  below  both  morning  and  evening. 
But  would  you  not  like  to  send  some  present  to  the 
Mayor,  Yram,  their  other  children,  and  Mrs.  Hum- 
drum's grand-daughter?" 

"Do  what  you  can,"  said  my  father.  And  these 
were  the  last  instructions  he  gave  me  about  those 
adventures  with  which  alone  this  work  is  concerned. 

The  day  before  he  died,  he  had  a  little  flicker  of 
intelligence,  but  all  of  a  sudden  his  face  became 
clouded  as  with  great  anxiety;  he  seemed  to  see  some 
horrible  chasm  in  front  of  him  which  he  had  to  cross, 
or  which  he  feared  that  I  must  cross,  for  he  gasped 
out  words,  which,  as  near  as  I  could  catch  them,  were, 
"Look  out!  John!  Leap!  Leap!  Le  .  .  ."  but  he  could 
not  say  all  that  he  was  trying  to  say  and  closed  his 
eyes,  having,  as  I  then  deemed,  seen  that  he  was  on  the 
brink  of  that  gulf  which  lies  between  life  and  death; 
I  took  it  that  in  reality  he  died  at  that  moment;  for 
there  was  neither  struggle  nor  hardly  movement  of 


The  Homeward  Journey        273 

any  kind  afterwards — nothing  but  a  pulse  which  for 
the  next  several  hours  grew  fainter  and  fainter  so 
gradually,  that  it  was  not  till  some  time  after  it  had 
ceased  to  beat  that  we  were  certain  of  its  having 
done  so. 


CHAPTER    XXVII 

I  MEET  MY  BROTHER  GEORGE  AT  THE  STATUES,  ON  THE 
TOP  OF  THE  PASS  INTO  EREWHON 

This  book  has  already  become  longer  than  I  in- 
tended, but  I  will  ask  the  reader  to  have  patience  while 
I  tell  him  briefly  of  my  own  visit  to  the  threshold  of 
that  strange  country  of  which  I  fear  that  he  may  be 
already  beginning  to  tire. 

The  winding-up  of  my  father's  estate  was  a  very 
simple  matter,  and  by  the  beginning  of  September 
1 89 1  I  should  have  been  free  to  start;  but  about  that 
time  I  became  engaged,  and  naturally  enough  I  did  not 
want  to  be  longer  away  than  was  necessary.  I  should 
not  have  gone  at  all  if  I  could  have  helped  it.  I  left, 
however,  a  fortnight  later  than  my  father  had  done. 

Before  starting  I  bought  a  handsome  gold  repeater 
for  the  Mayor,  and  a  brooch  for  Yram,  of  pearls  and 
diamonds  set  in  gold,  for  which  I  paid  £200.  For 
Yram's  three  daughters  and  for  Mrs.  Humdrum's 
grand-daughter  I  took  four  brooches  each  of  which 
cost  about  £15,  15s.,  and  for  the  boys  I  got  three  ten- 
guinea  silver  watches.  For  George  I  only  took  a 
strong  English  knife  of  the  best  make,  and  the  two 
thousand  pounds'  worth  of  uncoined  gold,  which  for 
convenience'  sake  I  had  had  made  into  small  bars.  I 
also  had  a  knapsack  made  that  would  hold  these  and 
nothing  else — each  bar  being  strongly  sewn  into  its 

274 


I  Meet  George  275 

place,  so  that  none  of  them  could  shift.  Whenever  I 
went  on  board  ship,  or  went  on  shore,  I  put  this  on 
my  back,  so  that  no  one  handled  it  except  myself — and 
I  can  assure  the  reader  that  I  did  not  find  it  a  light 
weight  to  handle.  I  ought  to  have  taken  something 
for  old  Mrs.  Humdrum,  but  I  am  ashamed  to  say  that 
I  forgot  her. 

I  went  as  directly  as  I  could  to  the  port  of  which 
my  father  had  told  me,  and  reached  it  on  November 
2.^,  one  day  later  than  he  had  done  in  the  preceding 
year. 

On  the  following  day,  which  was  a  Saturday,  I 
went  to  the  livery  stables  from  which  my  father  had 
bought  his  horse,  and  found  to  my  great  delight  that 
Doctor  could  be  at  my  disposal,  for,  as  it  seemed  to 
me,  the  very  reasonable  price  of  fifteen  shillings  a 
day.  I  shewed  the  owner  of  the  stables  my  father's 
order,  and  all  the  articles  he  had  left  were  immediately 
delivered  to  me.  I  was  still  wearing  crape  round  one 
arm,  and  the  horse-dealer,  whose  name  was  Baker, 
said  he  was  afraid  the  other  gentleman  might  be  dead. 

"Indeed,  he  is  so."  said  1,  "and  a  great  grief  it  is  to 
me ;  he  was  my  father." 

"Dear,  dear,"  answered  Mr.  Baker,  "that  is  a  very 
serious  thing  for  the  poor  gentleman.  He  seemed 
quite  unfit  to  travel  alf)nc,  and  T  feared  he  was  not 
long  for  this  world,  but  he  was  bent  on  going." 

I  had  notbing  now  to  do  but  to  Iniy  a  blanket,  pan- 
nikin, and  billy,  witb  some  tea,  tobacco,  two  bottles  of 
brandy,  some  ship's  biscuits,  and  whatever  other  few 
items  were  down  on  the  list  of  requisites  wliich  my 
father  had  dictated  to  me.  Mr.  Raker,  seeing  that  1 
was  what  he  called  a  new  clium,  .shewed  me  how  to 


276  Erewhon  Revisited 

pack  my  horse,  but  I  kept  my  knapsack  full  of  gold  on 
my  back,  and  though  I  could  see  that  it  puzzled  him, 
he  asked  no  questions.  There  was  no  reason  why  I 
should  not  set  out  at  once  for  the  principal  town  of  the 
colony,  which  was  some  ten  miles  inland;  I,  therefore, 
arranged  at  my  hotel  that  the  greater  part  of  my  lug- 
gage should  await  my  return,  and  set  out  to  climb  the 
high  hills  that  back  the  port.  From  the  top  of  these 
I  had  a  magnificent  view  of  the  plains  that  I  should 
have  to  cross,  and  of  the  long  range  of  distant  moun- 
tains which  bounded  them  north  and  south  as  far  as 
the  eye  could  reach.  On  some  of  the  mountains  I 
could  still  see  streaks  of  snow,  but  my  father  had  ex- 
plained to  me  that  the  ranges  I  should  here  see  were 
not  those  dividing  the  English  colony  from  Erewhon. 
I  also  saw,  some  nine  miles  or  so  out  upon  the  plains, 
the  more  prominent  buildings  of  a  large  town  which 
seemed  to  be  embosomed  in  trees,  and  this  I  reached 
in  about  an  hour  and  a  half;  for  I  had  to  descend  at 
a  foot's  pace,  and  Doctor's  many  virtues  did  not  com- 
prise a  willingness  to  go  beyond  an  amble. 

At  the  town  above  referred  to  I  spent  the  night,  and 
began  to  strike  across  the  plains  on  the  following 
morning.  I  might  have  crossed  these  in  three  days  at 
twenty-five  miles  a  day,  but  I  had  too  much  time  on 
my  hands,  and  my  load  of  gold  was  so  uncomfortable 
that  I  was  glad  to  stay  at  one  accommodation  house 
after  another,  averaging  about  eighteen  miles  a  day. 
I  have  no  doubt  that  if  I  had  taken  advice,  I  could 
have  stowed  my  load  more  conveniently,  but  I  could 
not  unpack  it,  and  made  the  best  of  it  as  it  was. 

On  the  evening  of  Wednesday,  December  2,  I 
reached  the  river  which  I  should  have  to  follow  up;  it 


I  Meet  George  277 

was  here  nearing  the  gorge  through  which  it  had  to 
pass  before  the  country  opened  out  again  at  the  back 
of  the  front  range.  I  came  upon  it  quite  suddenly  on 
reaching  the  brink  of  a  great  terrace,  the  bank  of 
which  sloped  almost  precipitously  down  towards  it, 
but  was  covered  with  grass.  The  terrace  was  some 
three  hundred  feet  above  the  river,  and  faced  another 
similar  one,  which  was  from  a  mile  and  a  half  to  two 
miles  distant.  At  the  bottom  of  this  huge  yawning 
chasm  rolled  the  mighty  river,  and  I  shuddered  at  the 
thought  of  having  to  cross  and  recross  it.  For  it  was 
angry,  muddy,  evidently  in  heavy  fresh,  and  filled 
bank  and  bank  for  nearly  a  mile  with  a  Hood  of  seeth- 
ing waters. 

I  followed  along  the  northern  edge  of  the  terrace, 
till  I  reached  the  last  accommodation  house  that  could 
Ixj  said  to  \)e  on  the  plains — which,  by  the  way,  were 
here  some  eight  or  nine  hundred  feet  above  sea  level. 
When  I  reached  this  house,  I  was  glad  to  learn  that 
the  river  was  not  likely  to  remain  high  for  more  than 
a  day  or  two,  and  that  if  what  was  called  a  Southerly 
Jjurster  came  up.  as  it  might  Ixi  expected  to  do  at  any 
moment,  it  w(nild  be  ([uitc  low  again  before  three  days 
were  over. 

At  this  house  I  stayed  the  night,  and  in  the  course 
of  the  evening  a  stray  dog — a  retriever,  hardly  full 
grown,  and  evidcTitly  very  much  down  on  his  luck- 
took  up  with  me;  when  I  in(iuire(l  about  him,  and 
asked  if  I  mi,t,'ht  take  him  with  me,  the  landlord  said 
he  wished  I  wmild,  for  he  knew  nothing  about  him 
and  was  trying  to  drive  him  from  the  house.  Know- 
ing what  a  lK)on  the  companionship  of  this  poor  beast 
would   Ix:  to  me   when  I  was  camping  out  alone,   I 


278  Erewhon  Revisited 

encouraged  him,  and  next  morning  he  followed  me  as 
a  matter  of  course. 

In  the  night  the  Southerly  Burster  which  my  host 
anticipated  had  come  up,  cold  and  blustering,  but  in- 
vigorating after  the  hot,  dry  wind  that  had  been 
blowing  hard  during  the  daytime  as  I  had  crossed  the 
plains.  A  mile  or  two  higher  up  I  passed  a  large 
sheep-station,  but  did  not  stay  there.  One  or  two  men 
looked  at  me  with  surprise,  and  asked  me  where  I  was 
going,  whereon  I  said  I  was  in  search  of  rare  plants 
and  birds  for  the  Museum  of  the  town  at  which  I  had 
slept  the  night  after  my  arrival.  This  satisfied  their 
curiosity,  and  I  ambled  on  accompanied  by  the  dog.  In 
passing  I  may  say  that  I  found  Doctor  not  to  excel  at 
any  pace  except  an  amble,  but  for  a  long  journey, 
especially  for  one  who  is  carrying  a  heavy,  awkward 
load,  there  is  no  pace  so  comfortable;  and  he  ambled 
fairly  fast. 

I  followed  the  horse  track  which  had  been  cut 
through  the  gorge,  and  in  many  places  I  disliked  it 
extremely,  for  the  river,  still  in  fresh,  was  raging 
furiously ;  twice,  for  some  few  yards,  where  the  gorge 
w^as  wider  and  the  stream  less  rapid,  it  covered  the 
track,  and  I  had  no  confidence  that  it  might  not  have 
washed  it  away ;  on  these  occasions  Doctor  pricked  his 
ears  towards  the  water,  and  was  evidently  thinking 
exactly  what  his  rider  was.  He  decided,  however, 
that  all  would  be  sound,  and  took  to  the  water  without 
any  urging  on  my  part.  Seeing  his  opinion,  I  remem- 
bered my  father's  advice,  and  let  him  do  what  he  liked, 
but  in  one  place  for  three  or  four  yards  the  water  came 
nearly  up  to  his  belly,  and  I  was  in  great  fear  for  the 
watches  that  were  in  my  saddle-bags.    As  for  the  dog. 


I  Meet  George  279 

I  feared  I  had  lost  him,  but  after  a  time  he  rejoined 
me,  though  how  he  contrived  to  do  so  I  cannot  say. 

Nothing  could  be  grander  than  the  sight  of  this 
great  river  pent  into  a  narrow  compass,  and  occasion- 
ally becoming  more  like  an  immense  waterfall  than  a 
river,  but  I  was  in  continual  fear  of  coming  to  more 
places  where  the  water  would  l)e  over  the  track,  and 
perhaps  of  finding  myself  unable  to  get  any  farther.  I 
therefore  failed  to  enjoy  what  was  really  far  the  most 
impressive  sight  in  its  way  that  I  had  ever  seen.  "Give 
me,"  I  said  to  myself,  "the  Thames  at  Richmond,"  and 
right  thankful  was  I,  when  at  about  two  o'clock  I 
found  that  I  was  through  the  gorge  and  in  a  wide 
valley,  the  greater  part  of  which,  however,  was  still 
covered  by  the  river.  It  was  here  that  I  heard  for  the 
first  time  the  curious  sound  of  boulders  knocking 
against  each  other  underneath  the  great  body  of  water 
that  kept  rolling  them  round  and  round. 

I  now  halted,  and  lit  a  fire,  for  there  was  much  dead 
scrub  standing  that  had  remained  after  the  ground 
had  l^cn  Inirncd  for  the  first  time  some  years  previ- 
ously. I  made  myself  some  tea,  and  turned  Doctor 
out  for  a  couple  of  hours  to  feed.  1  did  not  hobble 
him,  for  my  father  had  told  me  that  he  would  always 
come  for  bread.  When  I  had  dined,  and  smokeil,  and 
slept  for  a  couple  of  hours  or  so,  I  reloaded  Doctor 
and  resumed  my  journey  towards  the  shej)herd's  hut, 
which  I  caught  si,^'ht  of  about  a  mile  before  l  reached 
it.  When  nearly  hrdf  a  mile  off  it,  I  dismounted,  and 
made  a  written  note  of  the  exact  si)f;t  at  which  I  did 
so.  I  then  turned  for  a  coui)lc  of  hundred  yards  to  my 
right,  at  right  angles  to  the  track,  where  some  huge 
rocks  were  lying — fallen  ages  since  from  the  moun- 


28o  Erewhon  Revisited 

tain  that  flanked  this  side  of  the  valley.  Here  I 
deposited  my  knapsack  in  a  hollow  underneath  some 
of  the  rocks,  and  put  a  good  sized  stone  in  front  of  it, 
for  I  meant  spending  a  couple  of  days  with  the  shep- 
herd to  let  the  river  go  down.  Moreover,  as  it  was 
now  only  December  3,  I  had  too  much  time  on  my 
hands,  but  I  had  not  dared  to  cut  things  finer. 

I  reached  the  hut  at  about  six  o'clock,  and  intro- 
duced myself  to  the  shepherd,  who  was  a  nice,  kind 
old  man,  commonly  called  Harris,  but  his  real  name  he 
told  me  was  Horace — Horace  Taylor.  I  had  the  con- 
versation with  him  of  which  I  have  already  told  the 
reader,  adding  that  my  father  had  been  unable  to  give 
a  coherent  account  of  what  he  had  seen,  and  that  I 
had  been  sent  to  get  the  information  he  had  failed  to 
furnish. 

The  old  man  said  that  I  must  certainly  wait  a  couple 
of  days  before  I  went  higher  up  the  river.  He  had 
made  himself  a  nice  garden,  in  which  he  took  the 
greatest  pride,  and  which  supplied  him  with  plenty 
of  vegetables.  He  was  very  glad  to  have  company, 
and  to  receive  the  newspapers  which  I  had  taken  care 
to  bring  him.  He  had  a  real  genius  for  simple  cookery, 
and  fed  me  excellently.  My  father's  £5,  and  the 
ration  of  brandy  which  I  nightly  gave  him,  made  me 
a  welcome  guest,  and  though  I  was  longing  to  be  at 
any  rate  as  far  as  the  foot  of  the  pass  into  Erewhon,  I 
amused  myself  very  well  in  an  abundance  of  ways 
with  which  I  need  not  trouble  the  reader. 

One  of  the  first  things  that  Harris  said  to  me  was, 
"I  wish  I  knew  what  your  father  did  with  the  nice  red 
blanket  he  had  with  him  when  he  went  up  the  river. 
He  had  none  when  he  came  down  again ;  I  have  no 


I  Meet  George  281 

horse  here,  but  I  borrowed  one  from  a  man  who  came 
up  one  day  from  down  below,  and  rode  to  a  place 
where  I  found  what  I  am  sure  were  the  ashes  of  the 
last  fire  he  made,  but  I  could  find  neither  the  blanket 
nor  the  billy  and  pannikin  he  took  away  with  him.  He 
said  he  supposed  he  must  have  left  the  things  there, 
but  he  could  remember  nothing  about  it." 

"I  am  afraid,"  said  I,  "that  I  cannot  help  you." 

"At  any  rate,"  continued  the  shepherd,  "I  did  not 
have  my  ride  for  nothing,  for  as  I  was  coming  back  I 
found  this  rug  half  covered  with  sand  on  the  river- 
bed." 

As  he  spoke  he  pointed  to  an  excellent  warm  rug,  on 
the  spare  bunk  in  his  hut.  "It  is  none  of  our  make," 
said  he;  "I  suppose  some  foreign  digger  has  come 
over  from  the  next  river  down  south  and  got  drowned, 
for  it  had  not  been  very  long  where  I  found  it,  at  least 
I  think  not,  for  it  was  not  much  fly-blown,  and  no  one 
had  passed  here  to  go  up  the  river  since  your  father." 

I  knew  what  it  was,  but  I  held  my  tongue  beyond 
saying  that  the  rug  was  a  very  good  one. 

The  next  day,  Decemlx.T  4,  was  lovely,  after  a  nigiit 
that  had  lx.-en  clear  and  cold,  with  frost  towards  early 
morning.  When  the  shepherd  had  gone  for  some 
three  hours  in  the  forenoon  to  sec  his  sheep  (that  were 
now  lambing),  I  walked  down  to  the  place  where  I 
had  left  my  knapsack,  and  carried  it  a  goorl  mile  above 
the  hut,  where  I  again  hid  it.  I  could  see  the  great  range 
from  one  place,  and  the  thick  new  fallen  snow  as- 
sured me  that  the  river  would  l>e  fjuite  normal  shortly. 
Indeed,  by  evening  it  was  hardly  at  all  discoloured,  but 
I  waited  another  day,  and  set  out  on  the  morning  of 
Suu'-lay,  Deceml^er  Cy.     'I  he  river  was  now  almost  as 


282  Erewhon  Revisited 

low  as  in  winter,  and  Harris  assured  me  that  if  I  used 
my  eyes  I  could  not  miss  finding  a  ford  over  ona 
stream  or  another  every  half  mile  or  so.  I  had  the 
greatest  difficulty  in  preventing  him  from  accompany- 
ing me  on  foot  for  some  little  distance,  but  I  got  rid 
of  him  in  the  end ;  he  came  with  me  beyond  the  place 
where  I  had  hidden  my  knapsack,  but  when  he  had 
left  me  long  enough,  I  rode  back  and  got  it. 

I  see  I  am  dwelling  too  long  upon  my  own  small 
adventures.  Suffice  it  that,  accompanied  by  my  dog,  I 
followed  the  north  bank  of  the  river  till  I  found  I 
must  cross  one  stream  before  I  could  get  any  farther. 
This  place  would  not  do,  and  I  had  to  ride  half  a  mile 
back  before  I  found  one  that  seemed  as  if  it  might  be 
safe.  I  fancy  my  father  must  have  done  just  the 
same  thing,  for  Doctor  seemed  to  know  the  ground, 
and  took  to  the  water  the  moment  I  brought  him  to  it. 
It  never  reached  his  belly,  but  I  confess  I  did  not  like 
it.  By  and  by  I  had  to  recross,  and  so  on,  off  and  on, 
till  at  noon  I  camped  for  dinner.  Here  the  dog  found 
me  a  nest  of  young  ducks,  nearly  fledged,  from  which 
the  parent  birds  tried  with  great  success  to  decoy  me. 
I  fully  thought  I  was  going  to  catch  them,  but  the  dog 
knew  better  and  made  straight  for  the  nest,  from 
^vhich  he  returned  immediately  with  a  fine  young  duck 
in  his  mouth,  which  he  laid  at  my  feet,  wagging  his 
tail  and  barking.  I  took  another  from  the  nest  and 
left  two  for  the  old  birds. 

The  afternoon  was  much  as  the  morning  and 
towards  seven  I  reached  a  place  which  suggested  itself 
as  a  good  camping  ground.  I  had  hardly  fixed  on  it 
and  halted  before  I  saw  a  few  pieces  of  charred  wood, 
and  felt  sure  that  my  father  must  have  camped  at  this 


I  Meet  George  283 

very  place  before  me.  I  hobbled  Doctor,  unloaded, 
plucked  and  singed  a  duck,  and  gave  the  dog  some  of 
the  meat  with  which  Harris  had  furnished  me;  I  made 
tea,  laid  my  duck  on  the  embers  till  it  was  cooked, 
smoked,  gave  myself  a  nightcap  of  brandy  and  water, 
and  by  and  by  rolled  myself  round  in  my  blanket,  with 
the  dog  curled  up  l^eside  me.  I  will  not  dwell  upon 
the  strangeness  of  my  feelings — nor  the  extreme 
beauty  of  the  night.  But  for  the  dog,  and  Doctor,  I 
should  have  been  frightened,  but  I  knew  that  there 
were  no  savage  creatures  or  venomous  snakes  in  the 
country,  and  both  the  dog  and  Doctor  were  such  good 
companionable  creatures,  that  I  did  not  feel  so  much 
oppressed  by  the  solitude  as  I  had  feared  I  should  be. 
But  the  night  was  cold,  and  my  blanket  was  not 
enough  to  keep  me  comfortably  warm. 

The  following  day  was  delightfully  warm  as  soon 
as  the  sun  got  to  the  bottom  of  the  valley,  and  the 
fresh  fallen  snow  disappeared  so  fast  from  the  snowy 
range  that  I  was  afraid  it  would  raise  the  river — 
which,  indeed,  rose  in  the  afternoon  and  jjecame 
slightly  discoloured,  but  it  cannot  have  l)een  more  than 
three  or  four  inches  deeper,  for  it  never  reached  the 
bottom  of  my  saddle-bags.  I  l)clieve  Doctor  knew 
exactly  where  I  was  going,  for  he  wanted  no  guidance. 
I  halted  again  at  mid-day,  got  two  more  ducks,  crossed 
and  recrossed  the  river,, or  some  of  its  streams,  several 
times,  and  at  about  six,  caught  sight,  after  a  bend  in 
the  valley,  of  the  glacier  descending  on  to  the  river  bed. 
This  I  knew  to  Ixr  close  to  the  point  at  which  I  was  to 
camp  for  the  night,  and  from  which  I  was  to  a.scend 
the  mountain.  After  another  hour's  slow  progress 
over  the  increasing  rmighncss  of  the  river-lxid,  I  saw 


284  Erewhon  Revisited 

the  triangular  delta  of  which  my  father  had  told  me, 
and  the  stream  that  had  formed  it,  bounding  down  the 
mountain  side.  Doctor  went  right  up  to  the  place 
where  my  father's  fire  had  been,  and  I  again  found 
many  pieces  of  charred  wood  and  ashes. 

As  soon  as  I  had  unloaded  Doctor  and  hobbled  him, 
I  went  to  a  tree  hard  by,  on  which  I  could  see  the 
mark  of  a  blaze,  and  towards  which  I  thought  I  could 
see  a  line  of  wood  ashes  running.  There  I  found  a 
hole  in  which  some  bird  had  evidently  been  wont  to 
build,  and  surmised  correctly  that  it  must  be  the  one 
in  which  my  father  had  hidden  his  box  of  sovereigns. 
There  was  no  box  in  the  hole  now,  and  I  began  to  feel 
that  I  was  at  last  within  measureable  distance  of  Ere- 
whon and  the  Erewhonians. 

I  camped  for  the  night  here,  and  again  found  my 
single  blanket  insufficient.  The  next  day,  i.e.  Tues- 
day, December  8,  I  had  to  pass  as  I  best  could,  and  it 
occurred  to  me  that  as  I  should  find  the  gold  a  great 
weight,  I  had  better  take  it  some  three  hours  up  the 
mountain  side  and  leave  it  there,  so  as  to  make  the 
following  day  less  fatiguing,  and  this  I  did,  returning 
to  my  camp  for  dinner;  but  I  was  panic-stricken  all 
the  rest  of  the  day  lest  I  should  not  have  hidden  it 
safely,  or  lest  I  should  be  unable  to  find  it  next  day — 
conjuring  up  a  hundred  absurd  fancies  as  to  what 
might  befall  it.  And  after  all,  heavy  though  it  was,  I 
could  have  carried  it  all  the  way.  In  the  afternoon  I 
saddled  Doctor  and  rode  him  up  to  the  glaciers,  which 
were  indeed  magnificent,  and  then  I  made  the  few 
notes  of  my  journey  from  which  this  chapter  has  been 
taken.  I  made  excuses  for  turning  in  early,  and  at 
daybreak  rekindled  my  fire  and  got  my  breakfast.   All 


I  Meet  George  285 

the  time  the  companionship  of  the  dog  was  an  un- 
speakable comfort  to  me. 

It  was  now  the  clay  my  father  had  fixed  for  my 
meeting  with  George,  and  my  excitement  (with  which 
I  have  not  yet  troubled  the  reader,  though  it  had  been 
consuming  me  ever  since  I  had  left  Harris's  hut)  was 
beyond  all  bounds,  so  much  so  that  I  almost  feared  I 
was  in  a  fever  which  would  prevent  my  completing  the 
little  that  remained  of  my  task;  in  fact,  I  was  in  as 
great  a  panic  as  I  had  been  about  the  gold  that  I  had 
left.  My  hands  trembled  as  I  took  the  watches  and 
the  brooches  for  Yram  and  her  daughters  from  my 
saddle-bags,  which  I  then  hung,  probably  on  the  very 
bough  on  which  my  father  had  hung  them.  Needless 
to  say,  I  also  hung  my  saddle  and  bridle  along  with 
the  saddle-bags. 

It  was  nearly  seven  before  I  started,  and  about  ten 
before  I  reached  the  hiding-place  of  my  knapsack.  I 
found  it,  of  course,  quite  easily,  shouldered  it,  and 
toiled  on  towards  the  statues.  At  a  quarter  before 
twelve  I  reached  them,  and  almost  beside  myself  as  I 
was,  could  not  refrain  from  some  disappointment  at 
finding  them  a  good  deal  .smaller  than  I  expected.  My 
father,  correcting  the  measurement  he  had  given  in 
his  lx)ok,  fcaid  he  thought  that  they  were  about  four 
or  five  times  the  size  of  life;  but  really  I  (Id  not  think 
they  were  more  than  twenty  feet  high,  any  one  of 
them.  In  other  respects  my  father's  description  of 
them  is  quite  accurate.  There  was  no  wind,  and  as  a 
matter  of  course,  therefore,  they  were  not  chanting.  I 
wiled  away  the  quarter  of  an  hour  before  the  time 
when  George  became  due,  with  wondering  at  llicni, 
and   in   a  way  admiring  them,   hideous  though   tiicy 


286  Erewhon  Revisited 

were;  but  all  the  time  I  kept  looking  towards  the  part 
from  which  George  should  come. 

At  last  my  watch  pointed  to  noon,  but  there  was  no 
George.  A  quarter  past  twelve,  but  no  George.  Half- 
past,  still  no  George.  One  o'clock,  and  all  the  quarters 
till  three  o'clock,  but  still  no  George.  I  tried  to  eat 
some  of  the  ship's  biscuits  I  had  brought  with  me,  but 
I  could  not.  My  disappointment  was  now  as  great  as 
my  excitement  had  been  all  the  forenoon;  at  three 
o'clock  I  fairly  cried,  and  for  half  an  hour  could  only 
fling  myself  on  the  ground  and  give  way  to  all  the 
unreasonable  spleen  that  extreme  vexation  could  sug- 
gest. True,  I  kept  telling  myself  that  for  aught  I 
knew  George  might  be  dead,  or  down  with  a  fever; 
but  this  would  not  do ;  for  in  this  last  case  he  should 
have  sent  one  of  his  brothers  to  meet  me,  and  it  was 
not  likely  that  he  was  dead.  I  am  afraid  I  thought  it 
most  probable  that  he  had  been  casual — of  which 
unworthy  suspicion  I  have  long  since  been  heartily 
ashamed. 

I  put  the  brooches  inside  my  knapsack,  and  hid  it 
in  a  place  where  I  was  sure  no  one  would  find  it ;  then, 
with  a  heavy  heart,  I  trudged  down  again  to  my  camp 
— broken  in  spirit,  and  hopeless  for  the  morrow. 

I  camped  again,  but  it  was  some  hours  before  I  got 
a  wink  of  sleep;  and  when  sleep  came  it  was  accom- 
panied by  a  strange  dream.  I  dreamed  that  I  was  by 
my  father's  bedside,  watching  his  last  flicker  of  in- 
telligence, and  vainly  trying  to  catch  the  words  that 
he  was  not  less  vainly  trying  to  utter.  All  of  a  sudden 
the  bed  seemed  to  be  at  my  camping  ground,  and  the 
largest  of  the  statues  appeared,  quite  small,  high  up 
the  mountain  side,  but  striding  down  like  a  giant  in 


I  Meet  George  287 

seven  league  boots  till  it  stood  over  me  and  my  father, 
and  shouted  out  "Leap,  John,  leap."  In  the  horror  of 
this  vision  I  woke  with  a  loud  cry  that  woke  my  dog 
also  and  made  him  shew  such  evident  signs  of  fear, 
that  it  seemed  to  me  as  though  he  too  must  have 
shared  my  dream. 

Shivering  with  cold  I  started  up  in  a  frenzy,  but 
there  was  nothing,  save  a  night  of  such  singular  beauty 
that  I  did  not  even  try  to  go  to  sleep  again.  Naturally 
enough,  on  trying  to  keep  awake  I  dropped  asleep  be- 
fore many  m.inutes  were  over. 

In  the  morning  I  again  climbed  up  to  the  statues, 
without,  to  my  surprise,  being  depressed  with  the  idea 
that  George  would  again  fail  to  meet  me.  On  the  con- 
trary, without  rhyme  or  reason,  I  had  a  strong  pre- 
sentiment that  he  would  come.  And  sure  enough,  as 
soon  as  I  caught  sight  of  the  statues,  which  I  did  about 
a  quarter  to  twelve,  I  saw  a  youth  coming  towards  me, 
with  a  quick  step,  and  a  beaming  face  that  had  only  to 
be  seen  to  be  fallen  in  love  with. 

"You  are  my  brother,"  said  he  to  me.  "Is  my  father 
with  you?" 

I  pointed  to  the  crape  on  my  arm,  and  to  the  ground, 
but  said  nothing. 

He  understood  me,  and  bared  his  head.  Then  he 
flung  his  arms  about  me  and  kissed  my  forehead  ac- 
cordin"-  to  Ercwhonian  custom.  I  was  a  little  sur- 
prised  at  his  saying  nothing  to  mc  about  the  way  in 
which  he  had  disappointed  me  on  the  preceding  day;  I 
resolved,  however,  to  wait  for  the  explanation  that  I 
felt  sure  he  would  give  me  presently. 


CHAPTER  XXVIII 

GEORGE    AND    I    SPEND    A    FEW     HOURS    TOGETHER    AT 

THE  STATUES,   AND  THEN   PART 1   REACH    HOME 

POSTSCRIPT 

I  HAVE  said  on  an  earlier  page  that  George  gained 
an  immediate  ascendancy  over  me,  but  ascendancy  is 
not  the  word — he  took  me  by  storm ;  how,  or  why,  I 
neither  know  nor  want  to  know,  but  before  I  had  been 
with  him  more  than  a  few  minutes  I  felt  as  though  I 
had  known  and  loved  him  all  my  life.  And  the  dog 
fawned  upon  him  as  though  he  felt  just  as  I  did. 

"Come  to  the  statues,"  said  he,  as  soon  as  he  had 
somewhat  recovered  from  the  shock  of  the  news  I  had 
given  him.  "We  can  sit  down  there  on  the  very  stone 
on  which  our  father  and  I  sat  a  year  ago.  I  have 
brought  a  basket,  which  my  mother  packed  for — for — 
him  and  me.     Did  he  talk  to  you  about  me?" 

"He  talked  of  nothing  so  much,  and  he  thought"  of 
nothing  so  much.  He  had  your  boots  put  where  he 
could  see  them  from  his  bed  until  he  died." 

Then  followed  the  explanation  about  these  boots,  of 
which  the  reader  has  already  been  told.  This  made  us 
both  laugh,  and  from  that  moment  we  were  cheerful. 

I  say  nothing  about  our  enjoyment  of  the  luncheon 
with  which  Yram  had  provided  us,  and  if  I  were  to 
detail  all  that  I  told  George  about  my  father,  and 
all    the    additional    information    that    I    got    from 

288 


Conclusion  289 

him — (many  a  point  did  he  clear  up  for  me  that  I  had 
not  fully  understood) — I  should  fill  several  chapters, 
whereas  I  have  left  myself  only  one.  Luncheon  being 
over  I  said — 

"And  are  you  married?" 

"Yes"  (with  a  blush),  "and  are  you?" 

I  could  not  blush.  Why  should  I  ?  And  yet  young 
people — especially  tlie  most  ingenious  among  them — 
are  apt  to  flush  up  on  being  asked  if  they  are,  or  are 
going,  to  be  married.  If  I  could  have  blushed,  I 
would.  As  it  was  I  could  only  say  that  I  was  engaged 
and  should  marry  as  soon  as  I  got  back. 

"Then  you  have  come  all  this  way  for  me,  when  you 
were  wanting  to  get  married?" 

"Of  course  I  have.  My  father  on  his  death-bed  told 
me  to  do  so,  and  to  bring  you  something  that  I  have 
brought  you." 

"What  trouble  I  have  given!  How  can  I  thank 
you?" 

"Shake  hands  with  me." 

Whereon  he  gave  my  hand  a  stronger  grip  than  I 
had  quite  bargained  for. 

"And  now,"  said  I,  "before  I  tell  you  what  I  have 
brought,  you  must  promise  me  to  accept  it.  Your 
father  said  I  was  not  to  leave  you  till  you  had  done  so, 
and  I  was  to  say  that  he  sent  it  with  his  dying  bless- 
mg. 

After  due  demur  George  gave  his  promise,  and  I 
took  him  to  the  place  where  I  had  hidden  my  knapsack. 

"I  brought  it  up  yesterday,"  said  I. 

"Yesterday?  but  why?" 

"Because  yesterday — was  it  not? — was  the  first  of 


290  Erewhon  Revisited 

the  two  days  agreed  upon  between  you  and  our 
father?" 

"No — surely  to-day  is  the  first  day — I  was  to  come 
XXI.  i.  3,  which  would  be  your  December  9." 

*'But  yesterday  was  December  9  with  us — to-day  is 
December  10." 

"Strange!  What  day  of  the  week  do  you  make  it?" 

"To-day  is  Thursday,  December  10." 

"This  is  still  stranger — we  make  it  Wednesday;  yes- 
terday was  Tuesday." 

Then  I  saw  it.  The  year  XX.  had  been  a  leap  year 
with  the  Erewhonians,  and  1891  in  England  had  not. 
This,  then,  was  what  had  crossed  my  father's  brain  in 
his  dying  hours,  and  what  he  had  vainly  tried  to  tell 
me.  It  was  also  what  my  unconscious  self  had  been 
struggling  to  tell  my  conscious  one  during  the  past 
night,  but  which  my  conscious  self  had  been  too  stupid 
to  understand.  And  yet  my  conscious  self  had  caught 
it  in  an  imperfect  sort  of  a  way  after  all,  for  from  the 
moment  that  my  dream  had  left  me  I  had  been  com- 
posed, and  easy  in  my  mind  that  all  would  be  well.  I 
wish  some  one  would  write  a  book  about  dreams  and 
parthenogenesis — for  that  the  two  art  part  and'parcel 
of  the  same  story — a  brood  of  folly  without  father 
bred — I  cannot  doubt. 

I  did  not  trouble  George  with  any  of  this  rubbish, 
but  only  shewed  him  how  the  mistake  had  arisen. 
When  we  had  laughed  sufficiently  over  my  mistake — 
for  it  was  I  who  had  come  up  on  the  wrong  day,  not 
he — I  fished  my  knapsack  out  of  its  hiding-place. 

"Do  not  unpack  it,"  said  I,  "beyond  taking  out  the 
brooches,  or  you  will  not  be  able  to  pack  it  so  well ;  but 
you  can  see  the  ends  of  the  bars  of  gold,  and  you  can 


Conclusion  291 

feel  the  weight;  my  father  sent  them  for  you.  The 
pearl  brooch  is  for  your  mother,  the  smaller  brooches 
are  for  your  sisters,  and  your  wife." 

I  then  told  him  how  much  gold  there  was,  and  from 
my  pockets  brought  out  the  watches  and  the  English 
knife. 

"This  last,"  I  said,  "is  the  only  thing  that  I  am 
giving  you;  the  rest  is  all  from  our  father.  I  have 
many  many  times  as  much  gold  myself,  and  this  is 
legally  your  property  as  much  as  mine  is  mine." 

George  was  aghast,  but  he  was  powerless  alike  to 
express  his  feelings,  or  to  refuse  the  gold. 

"Do  you  mean  to  say  that  my  father  left  me  this  by 
his  will?" 

"Certainly  he  did,"  said  I,  inventing  a  pious  fraud. 

"It  is  all  against  my  oath,"  said  he,  looking  grave. 

"Your  oath  be  hanged,"  said  I.  "You  must  give  the 
gold  to  the  Mayor,  who  knows  that  it  was  coming,  and 
it  will  appear  to  the  world  as  though  he  were  giving  it 
you  now  instead  of  leaving  you  anything." 

"But  it  is  ever  so  much  too  much !" 

"It  is  not  half  enough.  You  and  the  Mayor  must 
settle  all  that  between  you.  He  and  our  father  talked 
it  all  over,  and  this  was  what  they  settled." 

"And  our  father  planned  all  this  without  saying  a 
word  to  me  about  it  while  we  were  on  our  way  up 
here?" 

"Yes.  There  might  have  been  some  hitch  in  the 
gold's  coming.  Besides  the  Mayor  told  him  not  to  tell 
you." 

"And  he  never  said  anything  about  the  other  money 
he  left  for  me — which  enabled  me  to  marry  at  once? 
Why  was  this?" 


292  Erewhon  Revisited 

"Your  mother  said  he  was  not  to  do  so." 

"Bless  my  heart,  how  they  have  duped  me  all  round. 
But  why  would  not  my  mother  let  your  father  tell  me  ? 
Oh  yes — she  was  afraid  I  should  tell  the  King  about  it, 
as  I  certainly  should,  when  I  told  him  all  the  rest." 

"Tell  the  King?"  said  I,  "what  have  you  been  tell- 
ing the  King?" 

"Everything ;  except  about  the  nuggets  and  the  sov- 
ereigns, of  which  I  knew  nothing;  and  I  have  felt  my- 
self a  blackguard  ever  since  for  not  telling  him  about 
these  when  he  came  up  here  last  autumn — but  I  let  the 
Mayor  and  my  mother  talk  me  over,  as  I  am  afraid 
they  will  do  again." 

"When  did  you  tell  the  King?" 

Then  followed  all  the  details  that  I  have  told  in  the 
latter  part  of  Chapter  XXI.  When  I  asked  how  the 
King  took  the  confession,  George  said — 

"He  was  so  much  flattered  at  being  treated  like  a 
reasonable  being,  and  Dr.  Downie,  who  was  chief 
spokesman,  played  his  part  so  discreetly,  without  at- 
tempting to  obscure  even  the  most  compromising 
issues,  that  though  his  Majesty  made  some  show  of 
displeasure  at  first,  it  was  plain  that  he  was  heartily 
enjoying  the  whole  story. 

"Dr.  Downie  shewed  very  well.  He  took  on  him- 
self the  onus  of  having  advised  our  action,  and  he  gave 
me  all  the  credit  of  having  proposed  that  we  should 
make  a  clean  breast  of  everything. 

"The  King,  too,  behaved  with  truly  royal  polite- 
ness; he  was  on  the  point  of  asking  why  I  had  not 
taken  our  father  to  the  Blue  Pool  at  once,  and  flung 
him  into  it  on  the  Sunday  afternoon,  when  something 
seemed  to  strike  him :  he  gave  me  a  searching  look,  on 


Conclusion  293 

which  he  said  in  an  undertone,  'Oh  yes,'  and  did  not 
go  on  with  his  question.  He  never  blamed  me  for 
anything,  and  when  I  begged  him  to  accept  my  resigna- 
tion of  the  Rangership,  he  said — 

"  'No.  Stay  where  you  are  till  I  lose  confidence  in 
you,  which  wall  not,  I  think,  be  very  soon,  I  will  come 
and  have  a  few  days'  shooting  about  the  middle  of 
March,  and  if  I  have  good  sport  I  shall  order  your 
salary  to  be  increased.  If  any  more  foreign  devils 
come  over,  do  not  Blue-Pool  them ;  send  them  down  to 
me,  and  I  will  see  what  I  think  of  them ;  I  am  much 
disposed  to  encourage  a  few  of  them  to  settle  here.' 

"I  am  sure,"  continued  George,  "that  he  said  this 
because  he  knew  I  was  half  a  foreign  devil  myself.  In- 
deed he  won  my  heart  not  only  by  the  delicacy  of  his 
consideration,  but  by  the  obvious  good  will  he  bore  me. 
I  do  not  know  what  he  did  with  the  nuggets,  but  he 
gave  orders  that  the  blanket  and  the  rest  of  my  father's 
kit  should  be  put  in  the  great  Erewhonian  Museum. 
As  regards  my  father's  receipt,  and  the  Professors' 
two  depositions,  he  said  he  would  have  them  carefully 
preserved  in  his  secret  archives.  *A  document,'  he  said 
somewhat  enigmatically,  'is  a  document — but,  Pro- 
fes.sor  Hanky,  you  can  have  this' — and  as  he  spoke  he 
handed  him  back  his  pocket-handkerchief. 

"Hanky  during  the  whole  interview  was  furious,  at 
having  to  play  so  undignified  a  part,  but  even  more 
so,  because  the  King  while  he  paid  marked  attention 
to  Dr.  Downie,  and  even  to  myself,  treated  him  with 
amused  disdain.  Nevertheless,  angry  though  he  was, 
he  was  impenitent,  unabashed,  and  brazened  it  out  at 
Bridgcford,  that  the  King  had  received  him  with  open 
arms,  and  had  snubbed  Dr.  Downie  and  myself.     But 


294  Erewhon  Revisited 

for  his  (Hanky's)  intercession,  I  should  have  been  dis- 
missed then  and  there  from  the  Rangership,  And  so 
forth.     Panky  never  opened  his  mouth. 

"Returning  to  the  King,  his  Majesty  said  to  Dr. 
Downie,  *I  am  afraid  I  shall  not  be  able  to  canonize 
any  of  you  gentlemen  just  yet.  We  must  let  this  affair 
blow  over.  Indeed  I  am  in  half  a  mind  to  have  this 
Sunchild  bubble  pricked;  I  never  liked  it,  and  am 
getting  tired  of  it;  you  Musical  Bank  gentlemen  are 
overdoing  it.  I  will  talk  it  over  with  her  Majesty.  As 
for  Professor  Hanky,  I  do  not  see  how  I  can  keep  one 
who  has  been  so  successfully  hoodwinked,  as  my  Pro- 
fessor of  Worldly  Wisdom;  but  I  will  consult  her 
Majesty  about  this  point  also.  Perhaps  I  can  find  an- 
other post  for  him.  If  I  decide  on  having  Sunchildism 
pricked,  he  shall  apply  the  pin.    You  may  go.' 

"And  glad  enough,"  said  George,  "we  all  of  us 
were  to  do  so." 

"But  did  he,"  I  asked,  "try  to  prick  th£  bubble  of 
Sunchildism?" 

"Oh  no.  As  soon  as  he  said  he  would  talk  it  over 
with  her  Majesty,  I  knew  the  whole  thing  would  end 
in  smoke,  as  indeed  to  all  outward  appearance  it 
shortly  did ;  for  Dr.  Downie  advised  him  not  to  be  in 
too  great  a  hurry,  and  whatever  he  did  to  do  it  grad- 
ually. He  therefore  took  no  further  action  than  to 
show  marked  favour  to  practical  engineers  and  mech- 
anicians. Moreover  he  started  an  aeronautical  society, 
which  made  Bridgeford  furious;  but  so  far,  I  am 
afraid  it  has  done  us  no  good,  for  the  first  ascent  was 
disastrous,  involving  the  death  of  the  poor  fellow  who 
made  it,  and  since  then  no  one  has  ventured  to  ascend. 
T  am  afraid  we  do  not  get  on  very  fast." 


Conclusion  295 

"Did  the  King/'  I  asked,  "increase  your  salary?" 

"Yes.     He  doubled  it." 

"And  what  do  they  say  in  Stmch'ston  about  our 
father's  second  visit?" 

George  laughed,  and  shewed  me  the  newspaper  ex- 
tract which  I  have  already  given.  I  asked  who  wrote 
it. 

"I  did,"  said  he,  with  a  demure  smile;  "I  wrote  it 
at  night  after  I  returned  home,  and  before  starting 
for  the  capital  next  morning.  I  called  myself  'the  de- 
servedly popular  Ranger,'  to  avert  suspicion.  No  one 
found  me  out ;  you  can  keep  the  extract ;  I  brought  it 
here  on  purpose." 

"It  does  you  great  credit.  Was  there  ever  any 
lunatic,  and  was  he  found?" 

"Oh  yes.  That  part  was  true,  except  that  he  had 
never  been  up  our  way." 

"Then  the  poacher  is  still  at  large?" 

"It  is  to  be  feared  so." 

"And  were  Dr.  Downic  and  the  Professors  canon- 
ized after  all?" 

"Not  yet ;  Init  the  Professors  will  be  next  month — 
for  Hanky  is  still  Professor.  Dr.  Downie  backed  out 
of  it.  He  said  it  was  enough  to  be  a  Sunchildist  with- 
out Ixiing  a  Snnchild  Saint.  He  worships  the  jumping 
cat  as  much  as  the  others,  but  he  keeps  his  eye  better 
on  the  cat,  and  sees  sooner  both  when  it  will  jump,  and 
where  it  will  jump  to.  Then,  without  disturbing  any 
one,  he  insinuates  himself  into  the  place  which  will  be 
best  when  the  jump  is  over.  Some  say  that  the  cat 
knows  him  and  follows  him;  at  all  events  when  he 
makes  a  move  the  cat  generally  jumps  towards  him 
soon  afterwards." 


296  Erewhon  Revisited 

"You  give  him  a  very  high  character." 

"Yes,  but  I  have  my  doubts  about  his  doing  much 
in  this  matter;  he  is  getting  old,  and  Hanky  burrows 
like  a  mole  night  and  day.  There  is  no  knowing  how 
it  will  all  end." 

"And  the  people  at  Sunch'ston?  Has  it  got  well 
about  among  them,  in  spite  of  your  admirable  article, 
that  it  was  the  Sunchild  himself  who  interrupted 
Hanky?" 

"It  has,  and  it  has  not.  Many  of  us  know  the  truth, 
but  a  story  came  down  from  Bridgeford  that  it  was  an 
evil  spirit  who  had  assumed  the  Sunchild's  form,  in- 
tending to  make  people  sceptical  about  Sunchildism ; 
Hanky  and  Panky  cowed  this  spirit,  otherwise  it  would 
never  have  recanted.     Many  people  swallow  this." 

"But  Hanky  and  Panky  swore  that  they  knew  the 
man." 

"That  does  not  matter." 

"And  now,  please,  how  long  have  you  been  mar- 
ried?" 

"About  ten  months." 

"Any  family?" 

"One  boy  about  a  fortnight  old.  Do  come  down  to 
Sunch'ston  and  see  him — he  is  your  own  nephew. 
You  speak  Erewhonian  so  perfectly  that  no  human 
being  would  suspect  you  were  a  foreigner,  and  you 
look  one  of  us  from  head  to  foot.  I  can  smuggle  you 
through  quite  easily,  and  my  mother  would  so  like  to 
see  you." 

I  should  dearly  have  liked  to  have  gone,  but  it  was 
out  of  the  question.  I  had  nothing  with  me  but  the 
clothes  I  stood  in ;  moreover  I  was  longing  to  be  back 
in  England,  and  when  once  I  was  in  Erewhon  there 


Conclusion  297 

was  no  knowing  when  I  should  be  able  to  get  away 
again ;  but  George  fought  hard  before  he  gave  in. 

It  was  now  nearing  the  time  when  this  strange  meet- 
ing between  two  brothers — as  strange  a  one  as  the 
statues  can  ever  have  looked  down  upon — must  come 
to  an  end.  I  shewed  George  what  the  repeater  would 
do,  and  what  it  would  expect  of  its  possessor.  I  gave 
him  six  good  photographs,  of  my  father  and  myself — 
three  of  each.  He  had  never  seen  a  photograph,  and 
could  hardly  believe  his  eyes  as  he  looked  at  those  I 
shewed  him.  I  also  gave  him  three  envelopes  ad- 
dressed to  myself,  care  of  Alfred  Emery  Cathie,  Esq., 
15  Clifford's  Inn,  London,  and  implored  him  to  write 
to  me  if  he  could  ever  find  means  of  getting  a  letter 
over  the  range  as  far  as  the  shepherd's  hut.  At  this  he 
shook  his  head,  but  he  promised  to  write  if  he  could. 
I  also  told  him  that  I  had  written  a  full  account  of  my 
father's  second  visit  to  Erewhon,  but  that  it  should 
never  be  puljlished  till  I  heard  from  him — at  which 
he  again  shook  his  head,  but  added,  "And  yet  who  can 
tell?  For  the  King  may  have  the  country  opened  up 
to  foreigners  some  day  after  all." 

Then  he  thanked  me  a  thousand  times  over,  shoul- 
dered the  knapsack,  embraced  me  as  he  had  my  father, 
and  caressed  the  dog,  eml)raccd  me  again,  and  made 
no  attempt  to  hide  the  tears  that  ran  down  his  cheeks. 

"There,"  he  said  ;  "I  shall  wait  here  till  you  arc  out 
of  sight." 

I  turned  away,  and  did  not  look  back  till  I  reached 
the  place  at  whicii  T  knew  that  I  should  lose  the  statues, 
I  then  turned  round,  waved  my  hand — as  also  did 
George,  and  went  down  the  mountain  side,  full  of  sad 
thoughts,  but  thankful  that  my  task  had  been  so  hap- 


298  Erewhon  Revisited 

pily  accomplished,  and  aware  that  my  Hfe  hencefor- 
ward had  been  enriched  by  something  that  I  could 
never  lose. 

For  I  had  never  seen,  and  felt  as  though  I  never 
could  see,  George's  equal.  His  absolute  unconscious- 
ness of  self,  the  unhesitating  way  in  which  he  took  me 
to  his  heart,  his  fearless  frankness,  the  happy  genial 
expression  that  played  on  his  face,  and  the  extreme 
sweetness  of  his  smile — these  were  the  things  that 
made  me  say  to  myself  that  the  "blazon  of  beauty's 
best"  could  tdl  me  nothing  better  than  what  I  had 
found  and  lost  within  the  last  three  hours.  How 
small,  too,  I  felt  by  comparison!  If  for  no  other 
cause,  yet  for  this,  that  I,  who  had  wept  so  bitterly 
over  my  own  disappointment  the  day  before,  could 
meet  this  dear  fellow's  tears  with  no  tear  of  my  own. 

But  let  this  pass.  I  got  back  to  Harris's  hut  without 
adventure.  When  there,  in  the  course  of  the  evening, 
I  told  Harris  that  I  had  a  fancy  for  the  rug  he  had 
found  on  the  river-bed,  and  that  if  he  would  let  me 
have  it,  I  would  give  him  my  red  one  and  ten  shillings 
to  boot.  The  exchange  was  so  obviously  to  his  ad- 
vantage that  he  made  no  demur,  and  next  morning  I 
strapped  Yram's  rug  on  to  my  horse,  and  took  it 
gladly  home  to  England,  where  I  keep  it  on  my  own 
bed  next  to  the  counterpane,  so  that  with  care  it  may 
last  me  out  my  life.  I  wanted  him  to  take  the  dog  and 
make  a  home  for  him,  but  he  had  two  collies  already, 
and  said  that  a  retriever  would  be  of  no  use  to  him. 
So  I  took  the  poor  beast  on  with  me  to  the  port,  where 
I  was  glad  to  find  that  Mr.  Baker  liked  him  and  ac- 
cepted him  from  me,  though  he  was  not  mine  to  give. 
He  had  been  such  an  unspeakable  comfort  to  me  when 


Postscript  299 

I  was  alone,  that  he  would  have  haunted  me  unless  I 
had  been  able  to  provide  for  him  where  I  knew  he 
would  be  well  cared  for.  As  for  Doctor,  I  was  sorry 
to  leave  him,  but  I  knew  he  was  in  good  hands. 

"I  see  you  have  not  brought  your  knapsack  back, 
sir,"  said  Mr,  Baker. 

"No,"  said  I,  "and  very  thankful  was  I  when  I  had 
handed  it  over  to  those  for  whom  it  was  intended." 

"I  have  no  doubt  you  were,  sir,  for  I  could  see  it 
was  a  desperate  heavy  load  for  you." 

"Indeed  it  was."  But  at  this  point  I  brought  the 
discussion  to  a  close. 

Two  days  later  I  sailed,  and  reached  home  early  in 
February  1892.  I  was  married  three  weeks  later,  and 
when  the  honeymoon  was  over,  set  about  making  the 
necessary,  and  some,  I  fear,  unnecessary  additions  to 
this  book — by  far  the  greater  part  of  which  had  been 
written,  as  I  have  already  said,  many  months  earlier. 
I  now  leave  it,  at  any  rate  for  the  present,  April  22, 
1892. 


Postscript. — On  the  last  day  of  November  1900,  I 
received  a  letter  addressed  in  Mr.  Alfred  Cathie's  fa- 
miliar handwriting,  and  on  opening  it  found  that  it 
contained  another,  addressed  to  mc  in  my  own,  and 
unstamped.  For  the  moment  I  was  puzzled,  but  im- 
mediately knew  that  it  must  be  from  George.  I  tore 
it  open,  and  found  eight  closely  written  pages,  which 
I  devoured  as  I  have  seldom  indeed  devoured  so  long 
a  letter.  Tt  was  dated  XXTX.  vii.  i,  and,  as  nearly  as 
I  can  translate  it,  was  as  follows : — 

"Twice,  my  dearest  brother,  have  I  written  to  you, 
and  twice  in  successive  days  in  successive  years,  have 


300  Erewhon  Revisited 

I  been  up  to  the  statues  on  the  chance  that  you  could 
meet  me,  as  I  proposed  in  my  letters.  Do  not  think 
I  went  all  the  way  back  to  Sunch'ston — there  is  a 
ranger's  shelter  now  only  an  hour  and  a  half  below 
the  statues,  and  here  I  passed  the  night.  I  knew  you 
had  got  neither  of  my  letters,  for  if  you  had  got  them 
and  could  not  come  yourself,  you  would  have  sent  some 
one  whom  you  could  trust  with  a  letter.  I  know  you 
would,  though  1  do  not  know  how  you  would  have 
contrived  to  do  it. 

"I  sent  both  letters  through  Bishop  Kahabuka  (or, 
as  his  inferior  clergy  call  him,  'Chowbok'),  head  of 
the  Christian  Mission  to  Erewhemos,  which,  as  your 
father  has  doubtless  told  you,  is  the  country  ad- 
joining Erewhon,  but  inhabited  by  a  coloured  race 
having  no  affinity  with  our  own.  Bishop  Kahabuka 
has  penetrated  at  times  into  Erewhon,  and  the  King, 
wishing  to  be  on  good  terms  with  his  neighbours,  has 
permitted  him  to  establish  two  or  three  mission 
stations  in  the  western  part  of  Erewhon.  Among  the 
missionaries  are  some  few  of  your  own  countrymen. 
None  of  us  like  them,  but  one  of  them  is  teaching  me 
English,  which  I  find  quite  easy. 

"As  I  wrote  in  the  letters  that  have  never  reached 
you,  I  am  no  longer  Ranger.  The  King,  after  some 
few  years  (in  the  course  of  which  I  told  him  of  your 
visit,  and  what  you  had  brought  me),  declared  that 
I  was  the  only  one  of  his  servants  whom  he  could 
trust,  and  found  high  office  for  me,  which  kept  me  in 
close  confidential  communication  with  himself. 

"About  three  years  ago,  on  the  death  of  his  Prime 
Minister,  he  appointed  me  to  fill  his  place ;  and  it  was 


Postscript  301 

on  this,  that  so  many  possibilities  occurred  to  me  con- 
cerning which  I  dearly  longed  for  your  opinion,  that 
I  wrote  and  asked  you,  if  you  could,  to  meet  me  per- 
sonally or  by  proxy  at  the  statues,  which  I  could  reach 
on  the  occasion  of  my  annual  visit  to  my  mother — yes 
— and  father — at  Sunch'ston. 

"I  sent  both  letters  by  way  of  Erewhemos,  con- 
fiding them  to  Bishop  Kahabuka,  who  is  just  such  an- 
other as  St.  Hanky.  He  tells  me  that  our  father  was 
a  very  old  and  dear  friend  of  his — but  of  course  I  did 
not  say  anything  about  his  being  my  own  father.  I 
only  inquired  about  a  Mr.  Higgs,  who  was  now  wor- 
shipped in  Erewhon  as  a  supernatural  being.  The 
Bishop  said  it  was,  "Oh,  so  very  dreadful,"  and  he 
felt  it  all  the  more  keenly,  for  the  reason  that  he  had 
himself  been  the  means  of  my  father's  going  to  Ere- 
whon, by  giving  him  the  information  that  enabled  him 
to  find  the  pass  over  the  range  that  bounded  the  coun- 
try. 

"I  did  not  like  the  man,  but  I  thought  I  could  trust 
him  with  a  letter,  which  it  now  seems  I  could  not  do. 
This  third  letter  I  have  given  him  with  a  promise  of 
a  hundred  pounds  in  silver  for  his  new  Cathedral,  to 
be  paid  as  soon  as  I  get  an  answer  from  you. 

"We  are  all  well  at  Sunch'ston;  so  arc  my  wife  and 
eight  children — five  sons  and  three  daughters — but  the 
country  is  at  sixes  and  sevens.  St.  Panky  is  dead,  but 
his  son  Pocus  is  worse.  Dr.  Downie  has  become  very 
lethargic.  I  can  do  less  against  St.  Hanky  ism  than 
when  I  was  a  private  man.  A  little  indiscretion  on  my 
part  would  phmge  the  country  in  civil  war.  Our  en- 
gineers and  so-called  men  of  science  are  sturdily  beg- 


302  Erewhon  Revisited 

ging  for  endowments,  and  steadily  claiming  to  have  a 
hand  in  every  pie  that  is  baked  from  one  end  of  the 
country  to  the  other.  The  missionaries  are  buying  up 
all  our  silver,  and  a  change  in  the  relative  values  of 
gold  and  silver  is  in  progress  of  which  none  of  us 
foresee  the  end. 

"The  King  and  I  both  think  that  annexation  by 
England,  or  a  British  Protectorate,  would  be  the 
saving  of  us,  for  we  have  no  army  worth  the  name, 
and  if  you  do  not  take  us  over  some  one  else  soon  will. 
The  King  has  urged  me  to  send  for  you.  If  you  come 
(do!  do!  do!)  you  had  better  come  by  way  of  Ere- 
whemos,  which  is  now  in  monthly  communication 
with  Southampton.  If  you  will  write  me  that  you  are 
coming  I  will  meet  you  at  the  port,  and  bring  you  with 
me  to  our  own  capital,  where  the  King  will  be  over- 
joyed to  see  you." 

The  rest  of  the  letter  was  filled  with  all  sorts  of 
news  which  interested  me,  but  would  require  chapters 
of  explanation  before  they  could  become  interesting 
to  the  reader. 

The  letter  wound  up : — 

"You  may  publish  now  whatever  you  like,  whenever 
you  like. 

"Write  to  me  by  way  of  Erewhemos,  care  of  the 
Right  Reverend  the  Lord  Bishop,  and  say  which  way 
you  will  come.  If  you  prefer  the  old  road,  we  are 
bound  to  be  in  the  neighbourhood  of  the  statues  by  the 
beginning  of  March.  My  next  brother  is  now  Ranger, 
and  could  meet  you  at  the  statues  with  permit  and 
luncheon,  and  more  of  that  white  wine  than  ever  you 


Postscript  303 

will  be  able  to  drink.     Only  let  me  know  what  you 
will  do. 

"I  should  tell  you  that  the  old  railway  which  used 
to  run  from  Clearwater  to  the  capital,  and  which,  as 
you  know,  was  allowed  to  go  to  ruin,  has  been  recon- 
structed at  an  outlay  far  less  than  might  have  been 
expected — for  the  bridges  had  been  maintained  for 
ordinal^  carriage  traffic.  The  journey,  therefore, 
from  Sunch'ston  to  the  capital  can  now  be  done  in 
less  than  forty  hours.  On  the  whole,  however,  I  rec- 
ommend you  to  come  by  way  of  Erewhemos.  If  you 
start,  as  I  think  possible,  without  writing  from  Eng- 
land, Bishop  Kahabuka's  palace  is  only  eight  miles 
from  the  port,  and  he  will  give  you  every  information 
about  your  further  journey — a  distance  of  less  than  a 
couple  of  hundred  miles.  But  I  should  prefer  to  meet 
you  myself. 

"My  dearest  brother,  I  charge  you  by  the  memory 
of  our  common  father,  and  even  more  by  that  of  those 
three  hours  that  linked  you  to  me  for  ever,  and  which 
I  would  fain  hope  linked  mc  also  to  yourself — come 
over,  if  by  any  means  you  can  do  so — come  over  and 
help  us. 

"George  Strong." 

"My  dear,"  said  I  to  my  wife  who  was  at  the  other 
end  of  the  breakfast  tabic,  "I  shall  have  to  translate 
this  letter  to  you,  and  then  you  will  have  to  help  me 
to  begin  packing;  for  I  have  none  too  much  time.  I 
must  see  Alfred,  and  give  him  a  power  of  attorney. 
He  will  arrange  with  some  publisher  about  my  book, 
and  you  can  correct  the  press.     Break  the  news  gently 


304  Erewhon  Revisited 

to  the  children;  and  get  along  without  me,  my  dear, 
for  six  months  as  well  as  you  can." 

I  write  this  at  Southampton,  from  which  port  I  sail 
to-morrow — i.e.  November  15,  1900 — for  Erewhemos.      1 


THE    END. 


Uaiie 

L'Ue 

jyjb  11  11 

m\l     h'f'r- 

4UJlj 

MAY      2 

1S6S 

APR  2  9 

1965  5 

MAR  3 

11967 

1AR3 

:  ■.:'-■■  X 

Af4a 

^0.,1g87 

nr"i\     'fci7 

""^       IJVI 

A.PR  2  ^ 

.1S57  -7 

JA^'2 

2  1970 

1  A  M  1 

n  iQ7n  A 

J/4N    I 

u   id/U  o 

JUN  1( 

i  1970 

j/aY  1 

l97Gt.Sl 

^, 

Library  Bureai- 

Cat.   No.   1137 

AA    000  599  598    o 


Butler,   Sajnuel. 

Erewhon  revisited... 


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